Gods of War
by Nirah
Summary: Part of the Breaking Destiny series. When Rose Tyler suddenly appears in the TARDIS, the Doctor learns that she is being hunted across universes by an unstoppable force. The Bad Wolf is back, and it wants its body. Now the Doctor must find a way to defeat a powerful god before it can take hold of Rose, and manage the delicate situation between the two greatest loves of his life.
1. Chapter 1: Rose

"Trust me."

That's what he said.

Behind her, she could hear it getting closer. Buildings that had stood for thousands of years collapsed and crumbled to dust. The mountains were cracking. The ground shook. The peaceful river was boiling away into nothing. Behind her was nothing but chaos and destruction.

But before her . . .

" _Rose_."

Before her was an enormous stone gate, carved into the side of a mountain that reached through the clouds. And through the gate was an impossible darkness. It drank the light eagerly and she could feel the weight of it, even where she stood. There wasn't even darkness in there. There was nothing in there. _Nothing_. Not a breath of movement. Not a whisper of sound. And yet, the longer she gazed into it, the more she felt that something was staring back.

Somehow, in the prefect loneliness, there was an overwhelming presence. Somehow, in the eternal silence, there was a never ending howling.

It was impossible.

Even with a world disintegrating around her, how could she ever step through?

She turned to look at him, to tell him that she couldn't do it, but the words caught in her throat when she met his eyes. He was looking back at her, absolutely terrified.

He looked so much younger.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he held out his hand. For just a fraction of a second, the fear left her, but it was enough time to take his hand.

"Run."

As she stepped forward, the nothingness came rushing up to greet her. She was crushed under the weight of a thousand black oceans and drifted like a feather on a breeze. Her body twisted into impossible shapes, squeezed down to a pin point and stretched out to encompass a world. For a moment, she was everywhere. For a moment, she didn't exist. She felt consumed by fear and all around her was howling, howling, howling.

Something touched her and, even in all that chaos and howling, she felt comforted.

 _Run_ , she reminded herself.

She didn't really know how. There was no ground or gravity or direction or time. There was nothing. But, as long as she held onto his hand, he would show her what to do.

She glimpsed a planet of molten rock—a new world being forged in seas of fire. She gazed down at a field of tall green grasses, waving in the winds like a tide. She saw an old woman in a hospital bed with flowers all around her, closing her eyes for the last time. She saw a little boy crying desperately and running for comfort. She saw a million ships raging against one another before the glow of a vast, purple nebula. She saw a man swinging by his neck from a tree with mud on his boots and a flower in his shirt pocket. The ruins of a forgotten city, half buried in sand. A little girl with six horns curling around her head feeding a flock of small, hairless animals. An endless ocean with tiny red flowers floating on its surface as far as the eye could see. She even saw herself, with the mountains cracking behind her, too afraid to step forward. A thousand worlds in only a moment, and it all spun around her faster and faster.

She almost didn't notice when it stopped.

"Get up."

Hands were grabbing at her arms and pulling at her. She was on her knees on the hard ground. One of her fingers had landed in someone's gum and she hurriedly yanked her hand back.

" _Rose_ , get up _now_!"

He was pulling at her again and she scrambled to her feet. She held his hand tightly and ran into one of the densest crowds she'd ever seen. Bodies pressed in all around her and no one seemed to notice that they had just appeared from nowhere. She looked back, eyes searching, and was only barely able to detect a tiny sign of the gateway they had just come through—a faint ripple in the air, much like the appearance of heat rising.

They were so many lights that it took her a moment to realize that it was night and there was so much noise that it took her a moment to realize there was music. There were children laughing and the air was full of delicious smells. This was a happy place, she realized.

And she ran.

A white door with a sign that read "Out of Order" on it appeared before her but she was shoved through it before she had a chance to see what it was. Once she was inside though, she knew.

It was cool and peaceful and _alive_. It might have looked different, but it was unmistakable. It felt like home again.

The TARDIS.

She turned to look at him, thinking that he must have felt the immediate welcome of that loving old machine, but he was ghostly white, his face drawn and exhausted. He was breathing hard and reaching for the center console, hoping to balance himself before she noticed.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "We don't have long," he managed to say between shallow breaths, his voice raspy. "The TARDIS will hide us for a little while but it might only be minutes. We need to find a way to hide you and then I'll leave a false trail—draw it away."

"What, and leave me here?" she asked incredulously.

"We don't have a choice."

"How are you going to make it without me?" she demanded, suddenly angry. "Look at you, you can barely breathe!"

"I'll manage," he answered sternly.

"Like hell you—"

"Rose, it's not after _me_!"

The doors rattled in their frame suddenly, causing them both to jump. Without a word, they both darted for the door that led to the depths of the TARDIS. They left it open just a crack, pressing their eyes to the thin strip of light, watching.

A young man hurried through the doors, showing signs of obvious nervousness. She glanced to the man at her side, asking a silent question, but his brows locked together in confusion and he shook his head.

The young man stepped up to the console and set a communicator down. "It looks really weird in here, guys."

The communicator crackled and another man's voice spoke. "It doesn't matter what it looks like as long as it works. Hurry up."

The man took a deep breath, and patted the console. "Give me a little help, Nana."

Suddenly, a woman's voice came through the communicator. "The lock for creation programming is almost always near the center and should have some kind of biometric scanner. You want corridor 107-H2-994."

They sat and listened for a while as the young man worked. Often, one of the other two voices would speak through the communicator, reporting something or giving reminders. Then, quite suddenly, Rose was pulled away from the door and they were running again.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"I don't know," came the answer. "But he's building a room. A room that, as far as I know, is completely impenetrable. It's the most secure room on the TARDIS, which might make it the most secure room in the universe."

"You think we can use it?"

"That boy is young and clearly doesn't fully understand the ship's programming. Before he locks it down, I think I can hijack it."

They found an empty stretch of hallway but, even as she looked, Rose could see a doorway forming in the wall. A room hollowed out behind the doorway and she could see wiring growing through the walls like roots, oddly coloured liquid oozed up from the floor and began to take forms.

"If I jump in when he's making the security system, it'll just look like a glitch in the programming. He won't know we're here."

She waited, watching the room take shape. A bed, a table that sunk into the floor, medical supplies. Whatever this room was meant for, it looked like a bomb shelter.

"Here we go," he muttered quietly.

He slipped on his glasses and then his hands went to work. His fingers flew furiously over the small console in the wall, his tongue pressing against his teeth as he shifted into his deepest levels of concentration.

"I'm creating a hidden space for you inside," he spoke quickly as he worked. "I'm giving it a separate time stream so that, no matter how much time passes, it will only feel like a moment."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What if I'm in there forever?"

"You won't be," he promised. "This door will open eventually. If I'm not there when it does, find the Doctor. He'll help you."

"I can't go in there," she protested. "You can't ask me to leave you on your own, especially not now. Who's going to take care of you? What if—?"

He suddenly let go of the console and grabbed her arms tightly, making her look up at him. " _We don't have a choice_. The only plan B we have is dying. Do you understand that?"

She smiled weakly. "At least we'd be together."

She hurt him when she said that, she could tell. It took him a second to compose himself before he could answer, his voice stronger and full of conviction.

"No," he said firmly. "I promise you, I will do everything in my power to come back. We don't give up today."

There had to be something she could do. There must have been _something_. But, before she could think of the answer, he'd taken her hand and he was leading her inside.

He explained in a soft voice that he had to make sure she couldn't let herself out, in case she had been touched. She shivered at the thought and didn't argue when he secured the metal cuffs around her wrists. She could see the muscles in his neck and jaw straining; he was trying not to cough. He didn't want her to worry. That made her worry more.

"Find the Doctor," he reminded her once she was secured. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, his lips parted slightly with all the words he wouldn't allow himself to say. Finally, he placed a hand on either side of her face and planted a long kiss on her forehead.

"For as long as I live, I'll look for you."

It was the best promise he could give.

He closed the door. The second he did, she realized that the restraints weren't there in case she had been touched. They were there because he knew that she would change her mind the moment he left her.

She screamed at him to come back. She fought the metal cuffs, pulling with such force that she knew her wrists would bruise underneath. In the back of her mind, she counted the seconds and knew that he had already been gone for years.

He might have already been dead for years.

And then the door opened.

The man who stood before her did not wear a face that she knew, but that didn't mean he was unfamiliar.

"Are you the Doctor?" she asked quickly, still fighting her bonds. "Did your face change again?"

The young man shook his head, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging wider. "No. But I, uh . . . know where to find him."

A new travelling companion then. Probably still new from how shocked he looked.

"I need the Doctor," she told him seriously. "I need to find him before it knows where I am! It's coming!"

For all she knew, it had found the correct universe only moments after they stepped through the gate. It might have found him just after he locked her away to hide. It might have touched him and learned where she was. It might have waited patiently for that door to open again.

It might have killed him years ago.

"Dad!" the man shouted.

"What are you calling your dad for?" she snapped irritably. "Help me out of this thing and get me to the Doctor! You don't understand—"

"DAD!"

She couldn't believe it. A full grown man screaming in terror for his dad at the sight of a restrained woman half his size. She suddenly remembered Mickey clinging to her legs and whimpering in fear the day she left with the Doctor. She suspected that this one had only been allowed to tag along because he had also come along with someone else.

She heard some movement and then he was standing before her. He looked at her with wide eyes and a face that was a cross between absolute shock and absolute joy. She felt herself bursting with relief at the sight of him. She was so happy that it took her a moment to realize that he looked too young.

"Doctor," she made herself say aloud. She had to remember that he was the Doctor.

She had to remember that he was someone else.

But he smiled with such beautiful familiarity and she remembered a thousand fond moments in the dark of night when he answered softly, "Rose."

She yanked on her cuffs again, which gave the Doctor all the signal he needed to kneel before her and work on releasing her, and frantically began to ask questions. "Is it here? Does it know where we are? How long has it been? Has anyone been touched?"

"Rose, slow down," the Doctor answered.

"Don't let her out."

The voice that spoke was hard and cold and unfamiliar. She looked over the Doctor's shoulders to see a man standing outside the room, beside the one she who had opened the door.

This man looked down on her with eyes like dark stones, his jaw set hard. There was a forceful presence about him and the way he held himself told her that he was not a man to be easily led. If the man who opened the door was the small fish following the shark, she had no doubt that this man was the shark.

The Doctor turned to look at the other man and she noticed that, even though he was already on his knees, he seemed to shrink a little lower to the floor. "Harry?" he said with uncertainty.

"Ganbri, go close the door," Harry ordered, his eyes never leaving Rose's face. "We have no idea who she actually is yet, but she seems to think something's coming. We can't have any kind of signals coming through until we know what we're dealing with."

"I can tell you everything," she assured them as the younger man hurried off. "Please, tell me how long it's been."

"What's your mother's name?" the man asked.

"Jackie," she answered hurriedly. "Jackie Tyler."

The Doctor smiled up at her, nodding slightly in encouragement. He looked nervous and that frightened her more than the other man's intimidating voice. Why was the Doctor nervous? What would that man do if she got the questions wrong?

"Where'd you meet the Doctor?"

"In the basement of the shop I worked at. There were these—"

"Has he aged since then? Does he look older?"

He was talking quickly and it was beginning to frustrate her. "I don't know. He looked completely different then!"

"What colour shirt were you wearing when you met?"

"How the hell am I supposed to remember that, mate?" she snapped.

It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "How about his shirt?"

"Are you being serious?"

The Doctor turned to look at the other man again. "Harry," he complained quietly.

The man actually held his hand up to silence the Doctor. She couldn't believe it when it actually worked.

"What colour were his eyes?" he continued.

"Blue."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"How about your eyes?"

She scrunched her face up at him frowning. "Brown. What the _hell_ is this?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth tensing, but he nodded his head as though he were satisfied. "Fine," he said gruffly before turning and walking away. Rose hadn't noticed the feeling of pressure building up in her head until it abruptly vanished, causing her to gasp in surprise.

She looked down at the Doctor at a loss for words. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled apologetically, returning his attention to the cuffs around her wrists.

"He's a lot nicer once you get to know him," he said, though he didn't really sound like he believed his own words.

"Did he say that signals can't get into this room?" she asked eagerly.

"Nothing can get through. I spent centuries trying to open that door or learn something about what was inside it. The TARDIS itself is pretty hard to scan or get information from, but this room . . . she pulled out all the stops for this one."

For the first time in a long time, Rose felt like she could breathe. They had managed to find shelter before that was able to keep them hidden and it was nothing as sophisticated as the TARDIS. She felt confident that she was safe here.

"He's not human," she muttered quietly, searching the Doctor's face for information. "Is he?"

"No."

"It felt like he was in my head somehow."

"Um, yes . . . that's sort of his specialty. He was only making sure that you were who you said you were."

He was avoiding something. He didn't want to tell her about his mysterious non-human friend.

"Who is he, Doctor?"

The metal cuffs suddenly opened and the Doctor cried out in delight. He stood, simply beaming at her, and made up some stupid lie about learning how to get out of cuffs from Harry Houdini, then he held his arms out in expectation.

The look in his eyes . . . it was like she never left. To him, it was like she had been there just last week, and this was not any stranger than any of the other many predicaments that they rescued each other from. It shocked her. Still, she stepped into the hug just the same.

"How long has it been?" she asked as he squeezed her tight. "For you?"

He took a deep breath, long and slow, thinking before answering.

"Twenty-eight years."

It felt like her heart stopped for a second. Twenty-eight years and he didn't look a day older. There were no dark circles beneath his eyes and no grey in his hair. He was so _young_. An odd feeling washed over her as his arms grew a little tighter and his chin rested on her head.

Twenty-eight years.

 _Twenty-eight years_.

She looked past his arm to catch a glimpse of the two other men in the room, keeping their distance and standing by the door. The blond one was watching them through the corner of his eye, his facial expression simply dripping with contempt. The other one beside him looked curious, eager, and very, very nervous.

"Oh God," she said aloud, eyes widening with realization as she quickly pulled free from the Doctor's hold.

"What?" he asked, but the way he asked it told her that he already knew.

"It's been twenty-eight years," she said and raised her hand, pointing a finger at the dark haired man. "He was calling his dad."

He looked to be in his mid to late-twenties and now that she looked at him . . . oh, he _looked_ like him! The hair, the freckles, the eyes. She shot a glance back at the Doctor to be sure and her eyes instinctually looked down. He was actually wearing a wedding ring.

"He was calling _you_."

"Yeah . . ." The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, suddenly looking very nervous. "Rose, I think you and I should have a little talk in private."

"What for?" She grinned at him as though she thought he was silly, trying to hide the shock from her face. "You've got a kid. That's great. I mean, twenty-eight years—blimey, it'd be weird if things _hadn't_ changed." She turned her attention to the boy instead and smiled warmly. "I'm Rose," she said, holding out her hand.

The boy smiled at her a little awkwardly, glancing at both other men before stepping forward. He took her hand and, to her surprise, bent down and kissed the back of it.

"Ganbri," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Ganbri." She glanced back at the Doctor, who looked to have gone several shades paler. "Alright," she said. "I've seen the kid. I've seen the ring. Where's the wife?"

"Husband."

The harshness in the voice told her immediately who had spoken, but she whipped her head around anyway. And there he was. That rough, scowly, scary looking man, was holding up his left hand so that she could clearly see his golden ring, gleaming away.

Her breathing stopped for a moment while she simply blinked in surprise at him. "You-you're the Doctor's husband? You two are married?"

The Doctor's mouth flattened out into a straight line, his hands alternating between his pockets and his hair. "Yes," he said slowly. "We're married."

She found herself nodding her head and quickly remembered to smile. "Okay." She looked back at the other man and held her hand out to him as well. "Sorry. Harry, was it?"

His eyes didn't soften, but he did shake her hand. "Professor Harold Mott."

Oh God, he hated her. He _hated_ her.

"Ohh, Professor. That's nice," she said, still forcing a smile. "Professor of what?"

"Everything," Harry answered.

"Oh, like how the Doctor's a doctor of everything?" She thought that might make him at least crack a smile. It didn't.

Ganbri cleared his throat. "Dad teaches cellular bioengineering at Oxford."

"Oh, nice." She could feel her smile starting to falter under the intensity of those eyes. Why was he _looking_ at her like that? She cleared her throat and gestured towards Ganbri. "So, twenty-eight years _together_ by the looks of it. Do you have any other kids, Harry?"

She never would have thought that he could look at her liked he hated her any more than he was before but his eyes suddenly darkened. The muscles around his mouth tensed as if in anger, and the muscles around his eyes changed too, but they didn't look angry . . .

"I have a daughter," the Doctor answered quickly, touching her elbow to get her attention. She looked at him only because she felt that she should, but she saw Ganbri put a hand on Harry's arm out of the corner of her eye. "Her name is Jenny. I think you'd really like her."

"How about we skip the chitchat?" Harry said irritably. "An ordinary human has somehow crossed the void between universes and hidden herself away in a room that was perfectly sealed for centuries and you want to catch up on the small talk? How about you tell us how you got here and what the fuck is going on?"

He was scared, she realized. This was a man who hid his fear behind anger. If there was anything in the world that she could spot in a man now, it was that. For whatever reason, her appearance was upsetting to him and he was trying to control the situation in the only way he knew how. She chose to speak to Harry directly, instead of to the Doctor, and answered his question as best she could.

"When I traveled with the Doctor," she began, being sure to look Harry in the eye. "There was a time when a lot of people were in danger. I looked into the heart of the TARDIS and—"

"I know the story," Harry interrupted, though his voice was a little less sharp.

She swallowed. "Then you know what the Bad Wolf is?"

Ganbri's brows locked together. "That's what made Uncle Jack immortal, isn't it?"

"That's right," Rose answered quickly. She felt another odd rush of relief when she heard that. She hadn't thought of Jack in a long time.

"But the Bad Wolf doesn't exist anymore," the Doctor spoke now, but his eyes showed her that he didn't believe his own words. "Once the vortex was brought out of you, you just became you again. The Bad Wolf is gone."

Rose shook her head quickly, her heart suddenly beating faster at just the thought of it. "It's back," she said, with a quiver to her voice that she didn't intend. "When you took the vortex from me, the Bad Wolf didn't just stop existing. It left me and went into you. When you regenerated, you scattered its energy. That's why . . . that's why you were so ill afterwards. It was still in you, poisoning you. You didn't wake up until it had all gone. But it was out there, in pieces, trying to put itself back together."

For once, they were quiet. Harry's fierce eyes bore into her and the Doctor's face had worry written all over it but neither of them spoke. She had kind of hoped that this was where she'd get interrupted.

"It wants . . . it wants its body back," she stammered out, shifting from foot to foot. "It wants _me_."

The Doctor looked at her as though she had just put the world on his shoulders. "Rose, I . . . You saw what it can do. I don't know if we can stop an entity with that kind of power."

"It's weak," she answered. "Well, weak _er_. Without a body to contain it, its energy just dissipates. It's tried other bodies, but they don't work. It was born to live in me. It needs _me_."

"And you brought it here, you stupid girl?" Harry finally snapped. "You want to go running across the universes with this thing chasing you, taking bodies as it goes? What happens to the 'bodies' it takes when they don't work, I wonder? How many people has it killed while you run away to save your own skin?"

"Look, would you shut it for one second?" she barked back, holding her hand up to silence him. "Maybe if you let me finish my story, you'd know why and we could all stop wasting our bloody time, mate. Now, do you want to keep yelling at me or do you want to know how my running away has been saving your skin too?"

Harry stepped forward and Rose barely resisted the immediate urge to step back. Ganbri's hand shot out and landed on Harry's chest. The boy didn't even turn to look at him but Rose could tell from the way his eyes seemed to lose focus that he was doing something she couldn't perceive. Harry didn't come any closer.

"The Bad Wolf thinks it's a god," she continued, trying to pretend that her heart hadn't leapt up into her throat a moment before. "God of all time and space. It wanted to tear down the barriers that separate them so that it can exist, and rule, in all of it at once. Every moment in time in every universe pressed into a single point."

"A reverse Big Bang," Ganbri said, his eyes suddenly wide with wonder.

"The Big Implosion," the Doctor added.

"We'd all fucking die," Harry finished.

"Right," Rose agreed. "So it's not been as easy as just giving myself up, yeah?"

Harry sighed heavily, bringing up a hand to rub the space between his eyebrows. "Well, shit, then this _is_ our problem." He sighed again. " _Fine_. How did you cross over and how did you get in the TARDIS?"

"The technology humans have developed so far is too unstable. We found an abandoned outpost of Gallifrey, left over from the War. There was a Gate there—broken, of course, but we were able to hide until James was able to fix it."

One of Harry's eyebrows shot up. "James?"

"He's—uh, my—he has all of the Doctor's memories, but—"

"The biological metacrisis?"

Oh good, he knew. "Yes," Rose answered and found herself avoiding eye contact with the Doctor when she said next, "He doesn't call himself the Doctor anymore though, just James."

"Okay. I'm lost," Ganbri suddenly piped up. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"We came through the Gate at the last moment," Rose carried on, hoping to keep the attention away from James. She didn't want to answer questions about him just now. She didn't want to think about him. If she thought about him, she'd have to remember that he might be dead.

"It found us and we wouldn't be able to close the Gate in time. James took me through and found this place where the TARDIS was. When we got inside, we had to hide because someone else came in—a young bloke—and he started programming this room, so—"

"No _fucking_ way!" Ganbri interrupted loudly. "You hijacked the programming when I was building the security system. I _knew_ something weird was going on."

"No, it was someone else. Shorter and with darker hair."

Ganbri shook his head. She saw that he tried to flash a grin, but it faltered and the last second and he only manage a smile. "New face," he said. "Time Lords can do that."

 _Time Lord_. She couldn't help staring at him. He looked her age. He looked human. He looked like James. A _new_ Time Lord, when the Doctor was meant to be the last. He hadn't just restarted his life; he'd restarted his family—his _species_.

James would kill him.

She realized that she had been staring and suddenly tried to pretend that she hadn't been. "Uh, listen, I've been in that room for a few hundred years. Could someone point me in the direction of the bathroom?" Maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but her gut told her to do it. "Harry?"

The Doctor and Ganbri shot not-so-subtle nervous glances to each other, but Harry's eyes were steady. With little more than a grunt of acknowledgement, he opened the door behind him that led out into the TARDIS halls. She knew there was a small bathroom where they were—she could see it off to the side—Harry could have simply called her a moron and pointed to the door. But he didn't. That gave her some hope.

She turned to signal to James to hang back before she slipped through the door but, when she looked back, she remembered that it wasn't him. James wasn't there at all. She remembered how pale he had looked and forced her thoughts to turn away. She wasn't brave enough to think about where he was just yet.

Harry only walked to the next hall intersection before he stopped, crossed his arms over, and turned to face her.

She smiled at him. "I know you don't like me," she started.

"I don't like you," he confirmed.

"That's okay. You don't have to like me. I don't have to like you either."

"That would make it easier for me to not like you."

She wasn't sure if he had meant it to be funny, but it made her chuckle a little. She almost missed it, it was such a small change, but his eyes softened ever so slightly when she chuckled.

"Look, mate, I don't know what you're worried about. We were never really . . . you know. There were feelings and things but I was never really more than just his friend."

"You were enough," Harry answered gruffly.

She blinked and let a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth. "That's probably the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time. You're not very good at this whole not-liking-me business, eh?"

She had hoped it would amuse him, even if only a little. It didn't. He suddenly looked irritated and he seemed to inflate a little, looking a little taller and a little more intimidating.

"Listen to me. Just listen," he hissed quietly at her. "You seem like a nice person and I don't know what you were expecting to find here but I need you to understand that the Doctor doesn't belong to you anymore. This is my family and you don't want to know what I have done–what I am still willing to do–to keep it. And before you ask if that's a threat, the answer is yes."

She felt her face tense and her lips purse. "Right," she said, crossing her arms and looking defiantly into those dark eyes. "So what you're saying is that I don't belong here, yeah?"

"Correct."

"Right. Right," she said, nodding her head as if she were in agreement. "Can you tell me where the TARDIS is parked right now?"

She could tell by the way he glared at her that he knew what she would say, but he answered anyway. "Chiswick."

" _Chiswick_. Right. Well, listen, Harry," she reached out and landed her hand lightly on his chest, leaning forward a little as though she were going to tell him a secret, and she easily felt the muscle tense beneath her fingers. "You seem like _not_ such a nice person and I don't know what _you_ were expecting but I'm not the sort of girl to tuck tail and run just because some bloke can frown at me really well. I was born and grew up about ten miles from here. I lived in a flat and went to school and worked in the shops, all in London. This is _my_ home—so I _absolutely_ belong here—and you have no idea what _I_ am willing to do to save my home, even if it means finding ways to keep ridiculously insecure men out of my way. And before you ask if _that's_ a threat, the answer is you bet your ass it is."

His eyes narrowed. "You have no idea—"

"I don't need to," she interrupted. "Because the reality is that, no matter who you are or what you can do, you need _me_ to keep your perfect little world spinning. All I have to do to ruin your entire life is get caught or die, so what can you _possibly_ do to me?"

His eyes were so dark. He was _so_ angry. _Leave_ , she thought to herself. He was the sort of man that looked that he might just be mad enough to throw everything into the fire before admitting defeat. He scared her, that much was true without question, but that didn't mean she'd kneel at his feet to gain favour.

She stood tall and smiled in as friendly a manner as she could. "Save it for the enemy, mate. You and I are friends now, whether you like it or not."


	2. Chapter 2: The Doctor

Once, he stood in this room and felt one of the most terrifying, most devastating moments of his life. Once, he stood in this room and felt one of the most exciting, most joyous moments of his life. He faced the death of his husband standing over that bed. He witnessed the miracle of his son's birth standing beside that table. His life ended and was reborn in that very room. It seemed like it had been doing that all along, and somehow he had never known. He had always been in in there and he could never leave.

What was happening this time? A beginning? An ending?

Would he ever escape that room?

Somewhere in the dark, a body stirred. Somewhere in the depths of that infinite ship, eyes opened. Somewhere silent enough where it could almost be forgotten, a quiet growl emerged.

"We need to take her to Torchwood."

The Doctor blinked and turned to his son. "No," he answered without thought. "We need to keep her close. The TARDIS will hide her."

"The TARDIS might be able to hide her but how do we hide the TARDIS?" Ganbri insisted. "If this Bad Wolf thing can track a human, then it can definitely track a ship and it's not exactly like the TARDIS blends in anywhere."

His head was hurting all of a sudden and he rubbed at his temples irritably. "Ganbri, be quiet."

"If this thing came from her then it knows that she would come to you for help. It will know that you'd try to hide her here. It was born from the TARDIS; do you really think it can't find it?"

He opened his eyes, prepared to demand silence, but the look on Ganbri's face stopped him. He knew that look—that determination. That simmering anger. He wasn't looking at Ganbri now. This wasn't the little boy that wanted to argue over what he was and wasn't allowed to do at school. This was a man that he hadn't seen in twenty-seven years.

He was looking at the Prowler.

The Prowler stood taller, squared his shoulders, kept his knees from locking in case he was required to move. The Prowler had eyes that accused him of so many things—arrogance and foolishness. Murder. Those eyes were accusing him still.

"Put it away," the Prowler said to him quietly, his gaze steady and his voice firm.

The Doctor hadn't noticed how suddenly the growling had grown until then. It was filling his ears and pushing at the insides of his skull, trying to break out. He turned away and ran his hands through his hair a few times, pacing a little as pushed everything back into place. The growl quieted down and gave way to silence. Somewhere, a monster closed its eyes and went to back to sleep hungry.

And when he looked back at the Prowler, he saw his son again.

"What makes you think it won't find her at Torchwood?"

"Jack has plenty of security systems in place," Ganbri answered quickly. "He allows some signals in and out with permission granted, but the place can be locked down to block everything. Not to mention that no one knows where it's actually located. I'm not even entirely sure that headquarters are on Earth. We get her there, shut down all unnecessary portals, and implement the highest measures of security."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "It won't last forever. It might not even last long."

"Nothing will," Ganbri shot back without hesitation. "Give me a better suggestion."

The Doctor smirked. Ganbri was, as ever, his father's son—simply impossible to argue with. He was older now, even if he was pretending not to be. The Nightmare's War had aged him and a full regeneration had not been enough to close the wounds that were inflicted. The Prowler and his angry, accusing eyes hid quietly beneath a thin veil and the Doctor wondered if he would ever really go away.

The door opened a moment later and Rose stepped back inside, smiling quite happily. The Doctor looked eagerly past her to spot Harry. He still looked dark and sullen, but he didn't look any angrier than he had before.

"We're taking you to Torchwood," Ganbri spoke up before anyone else had a chance. "You'll be safe there."

Harry glanced up, looking both a little surprised and pleased. Rose turned her eyes from Ganbri to the Doctor, looking slightly confused.

"Torchwood?"

"Safest place on Earth," Ganbri answered again before the Doctor had a chance to speak. "Well, if it is on Earth. We're not entirely sure. But that tells you how safe it is."

The Doctor tried his best to grin, hoping to ease any tension. "I think a visit with our dear Captain Jack is long overdue."

The thought of Jack seemed to perk everyone up a little and they immediately began to make their way through the TARDIS. The Doctor attempted to mentally reach out for his husband, but Harry remained closed off. The Doctor wasn't receiving any feelings of anger, which was a little comforting. It seemed that, for now at least, Harry just wanted to be left alone.

He opened the front doors of the TARDIS, exposing the small dark space of the garage it sat in. There were boxes of Christmas decorations piled against one wall, an old and very underused bicycle in the corner, Ganbri's snowboard was strapped to the ceiling, a few broken machines were waiting to be fixed near the door, and the false wardrobe sat beside the TARDIS herself, seemingly innocent. With Harry's car parked in there as well, there was very little room for a group of four to walk about.

Rose blinked at the scene as though she were in shock. "You've . . . got the TARDIS parked in a garage."

"Where else would we put it?" Harry muttered, pushing past her to approach the wardrobe.

"But . . . a garage means a house. You live in a _house_? Is that your car?"

"That one's Harry's car," the Doctor answered, suddenly feeling rather awkward again. "But yeah. You know, work and shopping and family visits and things."

Her brows locked together, looking more confused than ever. "Family visits?"

Suddenly Harry smacked one of his hands against the wardrobe, causing everyone to jump. "What exactly is so confusing to you? He got married and settled down. So, yes, there's a house and a garage and a car and people that we call family. There's even a back yard, if you can believe it. I've got a fucking _flower_ garden, of all things! What _has_ the universe come to?"

"Harry!" the Doctor cried out.

"She shows up out of nowhere to tell us about the universe-threatening situation that we have to deal with but then she wants to stop every five fucking seconds to question every little thing she sees. I mean, Jesus Christ, Rose, we're even wearing _shoelaces_!" Harry then put a balled up hand beside his head and opened it as if he were releasing something.

"Harry, stop it!" the Doctor scowled, crossing his arms. He wanted to look firm, but his curiosity got the better of him. He mimicked Harry's little movement with his hand and, while still trying to keep his scowl firmly in place, asked quietly, "What's that mean?"

Rose looked at him with an expression that was not even slightly amused. "That was my mind being blown. At the shoelaces."

"He learned that from his students," Ganbri said in a teasing voice. He moved past Rose and the Doctor, leaving the TARDIS to stand beside Harry and put a hand on his shoulder, likely trying to share some calming emotions. "Let's just get you settled in, Rose. I think I need to get my dad home for a nap before he gets any crankier."

"Watch it," growled Harry.

"I'm not the one throwing temper tantrums in front of strangers," Ganbri answered. His tone said that he had meant it to be a joke, likely trying to lighten the mood for Rose's sake, but the Doctor felt a strong telepathic push come from his son.

 _Stop_.

For a brief moment, Harry looked a little embarrassed. He took a step back from the wardrobe, allowing Ganbri to open it and play host.

The Doctor could tell that Rose wanted to ask why they were going into a dingy, broken wardrobe, but it seemed that Harry's little outburst had startled her into silence for now. Ganbri was kind enough to offer an explanation as they squeezed inside, telling her that portals to Torchwood had been built in certain places for the convenience of the staff. Because no one ever saw the headquarters from outside, no one actually knew where it was. More importantly, Torchwood could not be located by outsiders observing known staff in public.

When the doors in the back of the wardrobe opened and revealed Torchwood, he heard Rose's breath hitch. Sometimes he forgot how impressive it was to look at. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, with all sorts of impressive technology and Kelevra's bizarre experiments lining the way. And it was always so clean. How did Jack manage that?

"The Torchwood Institute is run by Captain Jack Harkness and is in the business of protecting Earth and its people from all extraterrestrial threats," Ganbri began to explain, as though he were running a tour. "Aside from the Captain, we have a crew of eight. That crew includes myself, Jack Nista, Annabelle Temple-Noble, Douglas and Celeste Burke, Declan Davies, Kevin Edwards, and Doctor Kelevra Presley. Torchwood is known to work in co-operation with, but is not affiliated with, the Unified Intelligence Taskforce and the free agents known publicly as Doctor John Noble, Professor Harold Mott, and Jenny Noble. Everything that you see, hear, or otherwise observe in Torchwood is strictly confidential and may not be discussed outside of this building or with anyone not directly affiliated with the Torchwood Institute."

Harry cast a sideways glance at Ganbri. "Are you done?"

"There's actually more to it but that's good enough." Ganbri shrugged his shoulders. "This way."

"I know how it works," Rose muttered, stepping forward and looking up at the ceiling high above her. "All top secret stuff. Don't touch anything 'cause it might kill you. I'm familiar."

"And watch out for the little guy with dark hair," the Doctor said with a wink. "He bites."

"Or the big one," Harry added, sounding dangerously close to making a joke. "He always finds a way to break something."

Ganbri suddenly veered left, towards a nondescript door. The Doctor had never seen what was beyond most of these doors –they were always closed and most were locked. Part of him expected to see something impressive when Ganbri opened it, but the room inside was plain. The lighting was softer than elsewhere in the building and, aside from a water cooler in the corner, the only furnishings were a rug in the center of the room with a chair on either side of it, facing each other.

"Banni, Tokrah, you can wait here."

"What? What do you mean?" the Doctor spluttered out, just as Harry began to make his own protests.

"At this point, this is official Torchwood business," Ganbri explained, using his professional voice again. "As consultants, I cannot allow you to attend any meetings regarding said business until you have been officially employed as consultants for this case. As I cannot give you that clearance myself—"

" _Rubbish_!" the Doctor protested. "Half the time we come here, we just show up!"

"I need to take Rose to speak to the Captain and brief him on the situation. I will follow his instructions from there and will notify you if Torchwood would like to employ you on this case."

Harry was glaring darkly at Ganbri, but was keeping his mouth shut. Rose stood behind Ganbri, peering over his shoulder at them with uncertainty but the Doctor was too irritated to try to reassure her. He was herded into the room by his own son, continuing to protest as Harry silently took a seat. Ganbri continued to rattle off a bunch of official sounding garbage about confidentiality and top secret clearance until, finally, he got to the point.

"In the meantime, the two of you will have to stay here and keep each other company," Ganbri said as he slowly backed out the door, then he smiled sheepishly and added, "Have a little chat."

And the door closed.

"Has he just put us in time out!?" the Doctor asked incredulously. "Have we just been put in a time out by our _child_?"

Harry crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "More me than you, I think, but yes."

"Well, that's just _rude_."

He paced back and forth a couple of times, glaring daggers at the door. Jack would have a good laugh about this. Rose would never be able to stop making fun of him. God knew what _Donna_ would say if she found out.

"Sit down."

Harry's voice was gentler than it had been since Rose appeared but firm enough for the Doctor to know it wasn't a suggestion for the sake of his comfort. Half an hour ago, the worst was past them. Half an hour ago, all they had to think of for the future was healing and growing closer as a family. How had things changed so much in half an hour?

He sat down and leaned back in his chair, trying to look casual. It was odd to be in a room that provided no distractions. He had no real choice but to look at Harry. The only other thing he could really do was go to the cooler for water but standing back up now would just be too obvious.

"I didn't do this," he blurted out instead. "I didn't know she was in there. I had nothing to do with any of it."

Harry didn't really react. His dark eyes just watched, piercing. The Doctor didn't know what else to say under that gaze. He stammered a little, trying to think of what Harry wanted from him, until he suddenly remembered how Harry had been behaving just a few minutes before.

"And, you know, you were being very rude," he muttered, trying his hardest to keep his voice casual enough that Harry wouldn't take offense. "She came to us for help, not to have some sort of power struggle with you. She didn't even know you were here. What's she ever done to you?"

Harry leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands beneath his chin. "You traveled with her for two years," he said quietly. "In two years, you were more in love with her than you were with me after two hundred."

"That's hardly her fault," he answered quickly and without thinking.

Harry blinked slowly at him. The muscles around his mouth tightened a little. He was upset and trying not to show it.

"The person I was with her is not the person I am now, Harry," he continued, softening his voice a little. "If I wanted to be with someone else, I would be with someone else."

Harry paused for a moment, watching him carefully, before answering in a near whisper, "I know."

"That's not what I meant," the Doctor said quickly. "Harry, don't twist this. That's not what I meant and you know it."

"You wanted her once," Harry answered, keeping his voice quiet and calm. "You never got bored or stopped wanting to be with her. It wasn't your choice for her to leave. The same can't be said for me."

"Harry—"

"You've left me before," he interrupted, voice a little firmer now. "After two hundred years of spending every moment together, it didn't take much for you to lose all interest in me. It didn't take much for you to lose interest in _her_ either, or the children. How many have you picked up and left behind since you left us on Gallifrey?"

"That's not fair, Harry."

"No, it wasn't."

He leaned forward in his seat then, bringing himself to Harry's eye level, mere inches from his face. "I was stupid. I made mistakes. You know how much I regret those decisions. What do you want me to say?"

Harry's eyes were far away and hard. "I want you to say that you will take care of your children this time. No matter what."

"Harry, no. No, no, no," the Doctor whispered repeatedly. He slid down from his seat onto his knees before his husband and placed a hand on either side of his face. "Don't say that sort of thing. I want to take care of _you_. I will take care of _all_ of you. You're my family, as much as the kids. I love you, Harry. Don't you understand that?"

Harry mouth moved slightly as if to answer, but no words came. His eyes moved to look off to the side and the Doctor saw a slight glimmer in them.

"Listen to me," he said, using his hands to encourage Harry to look at him again. "Rose means a lot to me and she always will. She is my _friend_. But I married _you_. I did that because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you and that hasn't changed, nor will it. We stay together, always. Do you understand me, Harry?"

He was averting his eyes again and tried to cover up a sniff before answering in a gruff voice, "Yeah."

"Stop trying to be so tough, you idiot."

That earned a half a smile and the Doctor took that as a cue to kiss him, long and slowly. He needed Harry to know that he meant it, every word.

After a moment, he moved to rest his forehead against Harry's with his hands still on his face, and breathed slowly. "I love you, Lahrre."

"I still don't have to like her," Harry grumbled in return.

The Doctor chuckled. "Okay."

Ganbri returned ten minutes later and found them both standing by the water cooler, sipping from paper cups and trying to pretend that they hadn't both been terribly emotional not long before.

That sheepish smile returned to Ganbri's face, half hiding behind the door, as he cleared his throat and said shyly, "On behalf of Captain Jack Harkness, I would formally like to ask for your—"

"You little bastard," Harry interrupted him, tossing his cup away and crossing his arms sternly. "You're getting a day without the car for every minute you left us in here."

The Doctor could see the relief wash over Ganbri's face. Harry's was acting more like himself again, the reassurance he'd been given helping him to shrug off some of his insecurities. "Jack wanted to see you, Tokrah," he said, and then added cautiously, "He thought it might be best if Banni sat down with Rose to update her on the situation in our universe."

Harry stiffened ever so slightly but, beyond a slight furrow of the brow, he kept his face calm and gave one stiff nod. "A lot has changed." Apparently, that was all he had to say on the matter.

Ganbri led them down the great tunnel that was Torchwood headquarters. The Doctor spotted Kelevra across the tunnel, his face peering around a doorframe and spying at them. No doubt he already had far more information than he was meant to.

Ganbri opened another door and held it open for him. He glanced a little nervously from the Doctor to Harry and back again, so the Doctor gave him a slight nod to let him know that everything was alright. Harry muttered something about seeing him at home and carried on walking before the door had even closed.

The room was a little more furnished than the last, though not by much. There was an identical water cooler in the corner, but this one had a rather old looking red couch beside it. In the middle of the room was a large, round table, much like what would be found in a cafeteria or an art class, with five plastic chairs around it.

Rose was sitting at the table with a glass of water and a small plate with some sort of microwaveable pizza snack. "I haven't eaten in seven hundred years," she said, smiling awkwardly. "That's what your . . . that's what Ganbri said. I'd been in that room for seven hundred years. It only felt like a minute. Seconds."

He nodded slowly, pulling out a chair across the table from her. "That boy you saw building the room was Ganbri. He went back to the first night that I had the TARDIS and built it in secret. That was seven hundred years ago."

"He said he was born in that room."

"He was."

"Yeah, but he said you and Harry are his parents. _Biologically_. Like, _Harry_ actually gave birth to him."

"He did."

"How's that work then?"

"It's complicated," he answered with a smirk.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that." She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, pizza snacks untouched. "What's he need to be doing stuff like that for anyway? Going back in time to build the room he was born in all in secret—what's that all about? And don't say it's complicated."

His smirk spread into a grin. "It's a long story."

She tried to look annoyed but she couldn't help cracking a smile. Instead, she dipped her fingers in her glass of water and flicked some at him.

"There's pictures of a little boy in Jack's office," she continued calmly, trying not to sound too interested.

The Doctor was just beginning to realize how much would need to be explained. "Yeah, that's Nista—uh, Jack—um, well, we call him J.J. but Ganbri often tells me we shouldn't call him that anymore. Says it's a kid's nickname or some rubbish."

"Not a little boy anymore then?"

"No." He shook his head. "Two years younger than Ganbri."

Rose took a deep breath and blinked several times as if in disbelief. "Well . . . you lot got _very_ busy after I left, didn't you?"

He frowned a little, unsure of why exactly she suddenly looked so uneasy. "Rose?"

She smiled apologetically. "It's just . . . well, it was, what, a year?"

He frowned a little deeper. "It was about ten seconds for you. I hadn't even left yet."

"But it was _you_!" she protested quickly. "I mean, where'd you meet Harry? At some Tesco's on the way back from dropping me off, you meet the grumpiest man the world has ever seen and you just think 'yup, that'll do'? He's _so_ —sorry," she suddenly interrupted herself. "Sorry. It's not my business. I'm sure he's perfectly . . . I'm sure he has good qualities."

It was concerning and yet amusing at the same time to see her so irritated about Harry. He had hoped to save the explanations of Harry until a later time, as his identity was probably what would be the most shocking of all of it, but it seemed now was the appropriate time.

He put his elbows on the table to lean forward and spoke slowly. "Rose, I didn't just _meet_ Harry after we parted ways. We've known each other for a very long time. I thought he had died. Finding him alive and getting to spend time with him again made me realize how much I had missed him . . . Truthfully, I was heartbroken when we found each other. He helped me, he made me feel like myself again, and he made me happy in a time when I didn't think that was possible. Falling in love with him was really inevitable."

She couldn't help but smile a little. "Well, there must be something half decent beneath that scowl of his. You never used to talk like that."

"I suppose not."

"You've grown soft."

He smiled. "I've changed."

She smiled again and picked up one of her pizza snacks, taking a bite of it and glancing up at the ceiling. "So, if he's so special, why didn't you two get married when you first met him?"

"I was different then. He was different then." He took a quick breath. "Rose, Harry didn't always go by the name Harry. Before we got together and came to Earth, Harry used to call himself . . . the Master."

She blinked at him a few times and he waited. Waited for her mouth to drop open, or for her to shout, or even for her to throw the pizza at him.

Instead she took another bite. "What, is that like a prison thing? Because that would make a lot of sense."

She didn't know.

It was the Doctor's turn to blink in confusion.

 _She didn't know_.

He folded his hands on the table top and smiled. "Why don't you tell me about James?"

She forced a smile and continuing chewing for a moment, swallowing before attempting to answer. "James is . . . his own person. He struggled after you left. You said he was just the same as you, but he wasn't. It was hard for him. It was hard for both of us really."

He frowned, deeply. "Sorry, I just assumed. Are you . . . are you not together?"

"No, we are," she answered quickly. "But we weren't. Not always. We tried at first but it didn't work. He was really confused and . . . unsure. He didn't understand his own body—he _hated_ it—and he couldn't seem to make up his mind about what we should call him. Some days, he'd do his hair up like you and call himself the Doctor and act just like you always did. Then, the next day, he'd dress differently and talk differently and insist that we call him John."

"But you call him James."

"After a couple of months, he decided that he couldn't be John. He said that you call yourself John when you're pretending to be human. From what Ganbri said, I guess he was right, Doctor John Noble." She smiled again, but this time it looked a little sad. "He was going to use Noble too. He never said why he changed it, but I guess he knew you might take that name too. Anyway, he eventually decided on James Donnason. Then it was a lot of back and forth between being James and being the Doctor, which meant there was a lot of back and forth between him being in love with me and us being strangers. He was like that for four years."

The Doctor felt a sinking feeling in his chest and he hurt for her. He'd thrown a man wearing his face at Rose, swearing they were the same—a lie so good that even James had had a hard time giving it up. He never thought much about what would happen afterwards. He imagined they'd just go off and be happy together, but the man who was meant to be the Doctor realized he wasn't the Doctor after all—a complete identity crisis. And Rose was in the middle of it, wondering if she was loved or not.

"I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say.

"You should be," she answered back quickly in what sounded almost like a hiss. "Why would you do that to him? Did you ever even think?"

"Not really," he admitted.

She took a moment to compose herself, placing the pizza carefully back on the plate in front of her. "After four years, he showed up at my mum's house with this book— _Frankenstein_. I'd never read it but he was really excited about and kept saying I had to, so I did—boring as hell, mate, I tell ya—and then he told me that he knew who he was. He said that you were Frankenstein and he was the monster. He said that you made him and just let go of him. You dropped him in some other universe because you didn't like what he did and then you ran away and left him alone with no name and no idea what to do with himself."

He swallowed hard, trying not to let the sudden rush of shame engulf him. Victor Frankenstein was the villain in a story of confusion and suffering—a villain out of pure irresponsibility, neglect, and denial. That was how the Master was born too. How had he made the same mistake again?

Rose saw the look on his face and looked away, continuing. "After that, he was always James. He never called himself the Doctor again. He tries to avoid talking about anything before he was made, because they aren't really his memories. We started spending a lot of time together while he figured himself out. Eventually, he asked me out for dinner and we started dating from the start like real, proper people do. Well, almost. We've been together for six years now, with a few empty spaces here and there. It's been hard— _really_ hard—but we make it work."

He caught himself glancing at her hand for a ring. She saw him and raised her hand up.

"He doesn't want to get married, or at least he says he's not sure about it. Doesn't want kids either. For some reason, I kind of expected that you'd be the same, even after all these years of James trying to prove that he's different. I don't know why I was surprised at all."

He smiled weakly. "To be fair, I usually take a _very_ long time to commit. And, doing it again for twenty-seven years, I'm _still_ not entirely sure that I know how to be a father."

"It's not that."

He looked at her curiously. From the way her eyes suddenly gathered a thin layer of tears and the way she swallowed hard before she spoke, he already knew what she was going to say next before she even said it.

Of course. He was human after all.

"He's sick."


	3. Chapter 3: James

_I might die here._

That was the first time he'd truly thought that. Through every piece of hell he'd dragged himself through, with every gun pointed at his face, with every bloody sink he stared down into, this was the first time he'd really believed it.

The torrential rain hadn't stopped. It had been raining for hours and, even under the cover of the shallow cave he'd found, he was still soaked through. The cold was so deep that his bones hurt. Every muscle ached. He held his hands out to catch water to drink, but they shook so badly that he never managed to slurp up more than a teaspoon at a time.

Anything that took more energy than that meant that he started coughing. With the surplus of water around him, he'd tried to wash away any hints of blood that came up, but it wasn't enough. He could taste it in his mouth. He could feel the damage inside of himself. He couldn't hide from it anymore.

So he sat in the mud of his shallow cave, watching the rain come down, and waited. Maybe someone would find him and help. Wouldn't that be lucky? Maybe an animal would find him and he'd be less lucky. And then, maybe the Bad Wolf would find him and he didn't even know what sort of luck that counted as. But as he watched the water slowly overtake the earth beneath it, creeping higher and higher, he suspected that he'd be gone before anything living found him. Maybe an archeologist would find him in a century or two and he'd be splayed out in pieces in some lab while they tried to solve the mystery of him.

The thought made him think of River Song. She was an archeologist. What if she found him? She had cared about him, that much was obvious. Maybe she would even rewrite time to save him.

But River Song cared about another man in another universe. No one was coming for him.

And he was so tired.

If he just let himself fall asleep, he might just die that way. Nothing as awful as drowning in the rain or being eaten by the wildlife or coughing himself to death. Just sleep and let go. It would be easy. Nine hundred years of suffering put to an end by the simple act of closing his eyes.

"Eleven years," he muttered aloud to himself. "You're only eleven."

He sighed heavily.

"Well, that's rubbish then, isn't it? It's not right for an eleven-year-old to die."

There was no one there to argue with him. No one to offer a solution or ask the right questions.

"What are you going to do about it then?" he asked himself, hoping it would spark some idea. ". . . Go bloody crazy and start talking to myself, apparently. That's really helpful."

The bottom line was that he needed help. He wouldn't survive on his own and there was nothing he could do to change that. He needed a dry, warm place to stay with food and water. He needed someone he trusted to look over him while he slept and care for him until he got some of his strength back. A cup of tea and a shower wouldn't hurt either.

Right. So he knew what he needed. That didn't help. He was in the middle of some sort of tropical rainforest on a planet that very well may be completely uninhabited by any sort of intelligent life. He'd seen no signs of any sort of village or nomad peoples. It was entirely possible that there was literally not a single person in the world to help him.

His only option was to get back to the gate—find the scar of the rift he'd made when he came through and reopen it. If he was lucky, the Bad Wolf was searching for him through the forests and would never even know he left. He might be able to shake it off for good.

How far had he run through the forest? He tried to remember how much distance he'd covered but the memory blurred together. He might have run for a minute or it might it might have been ten. He was fairly certain of the direction, but could he actually find his way back? The scar would be so subtle, especially in the rain, that it would be easy to miss. And if he didn't find it, he would certainly die. If _anything_ tried to attack him on the way, he'd die. He wasn't even sure that he'd have energy to walk, let alone run or fight anything off.

Something roared loudly in the distance, angry and vicious. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that either. Everything in him told him to stay put—hide, stay quiet, wait for help.

 _Die_.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath.

He didn't have a choice, it seemed.

He held his hands out in the rain again, willing them to hold still so that he could take a good sip of water. He forced his cold and wet legs beneath him, willing them to lift him up. It was harder than he thought it would be and he had to cling to the rocks along the cave wall, using his arms to pull himself up. His body really had just decided it wasn't going to be getting up again.

He began to cough a little, his muscles already feeling weaker. But he was standing and that was a victory in itself. He wasn't going to die huddled in that cave. He might die in the bushes ten feet away from it, but at least it wasn't curled up in the dark like a frightened child.

With one hand steadying himself against the wall, he took his first step. Once, he could break into a sprint without a thought. He wanted to do that now. He wanted to run. Just run and run and never look back and find a way out and survive and just keep on running. He took a deep breath and spat on the ground to clear his throat—there were hints of red in all those white bubbles.

No more running. But he'd be damned if he couldn't walk.

The rain looked worse than it was. He expected it to hit him like a wall but, though it was certainly unpleasant, it wasn't as terrible as he'd thought. It ran into his eyes constantly and made it hard to see, but it wasn't too bad if he held his hand above his eyes.

One foot in front of the other, each foot carefully finding solid ground before taking on weight. If he fell out here, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to get up again. Things were moving everywhere. Animals and creatures that he couldn't see snapped twigs and rustled leaves all around him with every step he took. Somehow, that felt a little empowering.

He found hints of his own passing from two days before, broken branches and the muddy remains of deep footprints. It all looked familiar and it raised his spirits, even if the noises of animals fighting was not far away.

He walked for what felt like forever and yet, when he looked back, he could still see his little cave in the distance. He decided to stop looking back. The rain had seeped into his bones and everything felt weaker. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath and quickly realized that he had to keep moving or else simply give up. Even stopping for a rest was dangerous because the temptation to sit down was too strong. He stumbled, but his hands caught a tree trunk and he managed to stop himself from hitting the ground. He began coughing again and his lungs felt like they were ripping themselves from the inside.

Weak, weak, _weak_. Weak and worthless and dying. But nearly there.

Surely he was nearly there?

He looked up, searching for a sign of the rift. The rain was nearly blinding him and his footing was slick. The moment he took his eyes away from his feet, he slipped. His body lurched forward and his hands scrambled for something to grab hold of. He found nothing. His shoulder slammed into a tree trunk and he fell to his knees.

The mud was so wet that his hands had already sunk out of sight and gone numb from the cold. His shoulder throbbed painfully. He'd heard a loud pop and felt a movement when he hit the tree that told him he'd dislocated it. He couldn't even feel his feet anymore in the cold.

It struck him then that losing his footing might have been the last mistake he'd ever make.

He gave it a try, struggling and pulling. He got his hands free of the mud, only to have them immediately sink again. The strength had completely left his legs. He couldn't get up. He was on his hands and knees, sinking into the mud and being pelted by freezing rain, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Help," he called into the emptiness. "Help me."

But even his voice was weak. It wouldn't even carry far in silence and the rain drowned him out completely. Not that there was anyone to hear him.

He supposed that at least this way Rose didn't have to watch. As far as she'd know, he died on his feet, fighting. Maybe he died saving someone else or something equally noble. She wouldn't watch him fade away into nothing in some bed. She wouldn't know that he died on his knees in the mud. That was something.

He began to let his arms lower him, preparing to lay down for the last time. He tried to pretend that the ache in the back of his throat was only dehydration and the streams running down his face were just rain that he only thought was warm because he was succumbing to hypothermia. He told himself that he couldn't breathe because his lungs were giving up on him, not because he was paralyzed with fear. By laying down, he was not giving up, but instead choosing to face the inevitable bravely.

He was not afraid, he told himself. He was not giving up. He was accepting his fate with dignity.

He wanted Rose to hold his hand. He wanted Tony to tell him he could do anything. He wanted Donna to yell at him for being a wimp. He wanted his mother to tell him to be brave. He wanted to be _home_.

He looked to memories for comfort and remembered that not all of them were his. But couldn't he pretend, for just this moment?

He didn't want to drown in mud. He'd rather lay on his side and fall asleep. It took effort, but he managed to shift his body as it lowered.

It was then that he saw a shimmer in the air.

He froze, unsure of whether the sight had been real or not. He was hypothermic and oxygen deprived—he might be hallucinating. But what if he wasn't? He tilted his head slowly from side to side, watching carefully.

There!

It was so subtle, he might have walked past within inches of it and not noticed, but staying in one spot had allowed him to see. There was a slight bend in space before him, a ripple in the air itself like plastic that had warped in heat. It was the rift he'd left when he first came through, hanging innocently and nearly invisible in the middle of nowhere.

It was only five feet away. He could almost reach it if he stretched his arm out. He didn't have the strength to stand up or walk, he knew that much. But maybe he didn't have to.

 _I promise you, I will do everything in my power to come back._

He pushed his good arm through the mud, searching for rocks, roots, anything he could grab hold of. He shifted his knees, trying to move his legs to get as much power behind them as he could.

 _We don't give up today._

He'd made a promise. Somewhere out there, Rose was fighting to survive without him, waiting for him. He'd made a promise and, as close as he may have been, he was not dead yet. His fingers wrapped around what felt like a root and he gripped it tightly, pulling with all the strength he could summon.

 _For as long as I live, I'll look for you._

He'd made a _promise_. And James Donnason was no liar.

His body slid forward a couple of feet, bringing the rift almost within his reach. He adjusted his legs again, feeling a little stronger knowing that he was only inches away. He could only find a small, slippery rock buried in the mud to grab hold of, but it would have to do. His arm pulled and his legs pushed, even though they complained loudly about being forced to do so.

He saw the air ripple before his eyes as he neared the rift and he quickly reached out his hand, pushing his fingers through the crack in time.

His body suddenly felt weightless and he allowed himself to be pulled through.

The howling rushed past his ears while he free fell through infinity. Suddenly he was not afraid. He forced his eyes open and used everything his human body and human mind allowed him to help him navigate. Worlds and moments and empty space rushed past him and he willed something familiar to find him. He thought of Rose.

Suddenly he saw a face he knew—a woman from a life that wasn't his. He reached out for her, tearing through the fabric of time and space itself.

He fell onto a hard floor, sending jolts of pain through his battered body. But he could feel carpet against his cheek and it made him smile. It didn't even bother him when the shrill screams of children pierced the air or the loud thumping on their feet as they fled the room.

He glanced upward and spotted the face he'd seen on the other side of the void. It was a photograph of Trish Webber, smiling happily. She looked a little older in the photo than she looked in his memories.

Someone else was shouting now, asking questions and making exclamations of surprise. He was grabbed by his dislocated shoulder and pulled onto his back, but he didn't have the strength to cry out. He wasn't even entirely certain that he was awake anymore.

At first he saw a man, staring down at him and shock and telling one of the kids to call an ambulance, but then a woman pushed him aside.

"It can't be," he heard her say. "Doctor?"

She was much older, a grown woman and a wife and mother by the look of it. Still, her face was unmistakable. He'd fallen through the rift into the Chloe Webber's living room.

"Clive, call an ambulance! Get some help! Quickly!"

The rest was a blur. There were snippets of memories—of mud being washed from his face, of shooting pains when his arm was moved, of being rolled onto his side again so that he could breathe. He heard sirens, had bright lights shine into his eyes, and was lifted off the floor onto a stretcher. Plenty of noise and light and his body being pushed and pulled about like a toy. It almost felt like being back in the Howling.

Eventually, the chaos gave way to darkness and silence.


	4. Chapter 4: Nista

"Can't you come inside? It'll be easier for me in there."

Nista looked up at Kevin and held up a pack of cigarettes as an explanation. The other man's brows immediately locked into a frown and he took in a breath.

"Don't," Nista said quickly. "Not now."

He shook a cigarette free from the box while Kevin looked on. He didn't say anything, but Nista still felt a sudden surge of guilt under that gaze.

"Soon," he promised, placing one between his lips.

Kevin sighed unhappily but dove a hand into the pocket of his jeans to produce a lighter. "Soon enough, I hope."

"Thanks," Nista muttered in return, accepting the lighter.

Kevin sat down on the ground beside him, carefully laying his kit out on the small towel he'd brought with him. J.J. knew he was being difficult by forcing them outside, but he felt that he just needed to get out of the house for a moment. Four walls and a ceiling that came in a little too close and not enough doors—it felt suffocating.

"Have you thought about what I said?" Kevin asked quietly.

Nista took a drag on his cigarette, being sure to turn his head away when he exhaled, and tried to answer in a voice that sounded casual. "It was just an accident."

Another sigh. Kevin didn't believe him. No one believed him. They all thought he was losing his mind in some form or another, he knew it. He didn't give a fuck for most of them, but he couldn't stand it when Kevin pressed his lips together and he made those little sighs of disappointment.

"I didn't mean to break it," he offered.

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's closer to the truth."

Nista had not yet been allowed to return to work. They let him visit headquarters and Declan had given him one or two paperwork assignments to help out with to make him feel included, but that was all. Kevin would tell him that it was because he was still healing. Kelevra told him it was because he was unstable.

He'd been trying to relax, staying at home all day. Kevin had been staying in Jack's house for over a week now, sleeping in Nista's bed and staying with him during most of the day. Nista was pretty sure that Kevin's presence was the only reason he hadn't already gone mad in the boredom of it all, but it was still difficult. He'd been trying to keep himself busy by devoting a lot of energy into cleaning the house and getting done all the little projects that he and Jack had put off over the years. It gave him something else to focus on.

But his wounds were healing.

First, he only cut his finger while cleaning some of his weapons. Then, he burned his arm while cooking dinner. A cut from shaving, another burn from a clumsy cigarette, a snag of the back of his hand from his tooth.

Kevin wasn't stupid.

Today he'd only been washing the dishes. He was trying to stop. He knew how much it upset Kevin—how much it would upset Jack if he found out. He knew that it wasn't healthy and that it didn't help. But he remembered the way it felt to have a throat crush between his teeth. He remembered the screams of dying men and the howling of that vicious blue light. The sounds of gunshots and explosions echoed through his mind and suddenly he remembered feeling light headed and dizzy. He remembered holding half of his scalp in his hand and wondering if his skull was still intact or if he was dying and leaving a trail of brain matter and just didn't know it yet.

He didn't know if he'd crushed the glass in his hand or if he'd thumped it against the side of the sink. All he knew was that it was suddenly in pieces, sharp shards floating around in the soapy water, waiting.

The cut on the underside of his forearm wasn't terribly long, but it was deep enough that it bled and wouldn't stop. He couldn't cover it up or hide it. Kevin walked in only a moment later to find him simply holding the wound over the sink, watching as all the bubbles turned red.

Kevin wanted him to go to a shrink. They could find one offworld easily enough—someone that he could talk to without needing to pretend he was human. The very idea of it made his skin crawl but he was pretty sure he wouldn't have a choice before long.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Kevin glanced up at him for just a moment before turning his focus back to the stitches he was working on. "You don't need to apologize to me."

"You can take it all as a compliment, really," he blurted out next without thinking. "On Nu'akt, causing any physical harm to yourself in the presence of another is considered the ultimate form of displaying trust and loyalty. It's a pretty big deal."

"Would you like me to do the same for you then?"

Nista frowned deeply, pausing to take another long drag on his cigarette. "I'll stop," he promised.

"Like how you'll stop smoking?"

He frowned a little deeper. "I will."

"When?"

"What are you, my fucking boss all of a sudden?" he snapped irritably. He regretted it immediately when he noticed Kevin release his arm and move back a little. He was giving himself space in case he needed to defend himself—in case Nista tried to hurt him. Kevin had to know that he'd never hurt him.

He cleared his throat and softened his voice. "I just . . . Don't get on my case, okay?"

Kevin nodded his head slightly and went back to work. Nista tried to take another drag but found he'd lost all interest in his cigarette and put it out in the dirt with a sigh. Maybe he could go hunting. He felt more useful doing that sort of thing than he did doing dishes. He felt more like himself.

"Is it a religious thing?" Kevin suddenly asked.

Nista turned his eyes towards his friend, frowning in confusion. "Religious—what the fuck does that mean?"

"Well . . . you're not exactly known for your vanity," Kevin said carefully and gestured towards the wound wrapping around Nista's skull. "Is it, you know, like a bad omen or something?"

He remembered staring up at a bright moon in sky. He remembered it staring back, with that ugly jagged scar across its face. He remembered the whispered murmurs of fear that moved around like a quiet wind as the sky began to slowly grow lighter. He remembered the sun peering over the horizon and the frightened gasp of his sister.

By evening, Ru'ahn's face was splattered with red.

By nightfall, he had his sister's bones between his teeth.

"You know I don't actually _believe_ any of that shit, right?" he hissed.

Mother had made a sound like nothing he'd ever heard before, nor had he ever see her kill so viciously.

"I know that you don't believe a lot of the things that you were taught as a kid. That doesn't mean that those things don't still affect you, even just in little ways that you might not even notice."

"It's not a religious thing," he answered quickly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It hurts and it's keeping me from working. That's all I care about."

His head did hurt. It was tender around the wound, itching and pulsating with pain as his skin worked hard to pull itself back together. He remembered the weight of the impact, the sudden numbness, the warmth running down his face and the bizarre sensation of feeling the skin pulling away and flapping in the air. He instinctively brought his hand up to his face, resting it on the side of his head as though he were still holding it together.

Kevin was looking at him, watching him. It made him feel nervous. He wanted another cigarette, even though he could still taste the smoke of the last one in his mouth. He wanted something to do—anything that didn't mean sitting right there and being seen.

As if it were answering a prayer, his phone beeped in his pocket. Kevin's had begun to ring before he even had a chance to check it.

"Ganbri. 'Storm's coming. Get to shelter'," he reported, raising an eyebrow.

"Kel. 'Presence required immediately'," Kevin answered, frowning at his own phone.

Nista practically sprang to his feet, just as eager to forget the conversation he had been having as he was to get to Torchwood. "Am I getting put on a job?"

"Looks like it," Kevin answered quietly, still frowning. "Something big must be happening."

It was something big, in a way. Well, she was taller than he was anyway.

He'd heard about Rose Tyler before. Jack talked about her tenderly as though she were a younger sister and anyone else, whether they liked her or not, seemed to recognize that she was admirable in her own ways. He could see it, looking at her.

She smiled easily and didn't appear to pay attention to Jack as he briefed them on the mission, but he could see that she was taking in more information than she let on. He couldn't decide whether it was an intentional deception or not. She made eye contact with him several times during the meeting and he would instinctually turn the wounded side of his face away and raise his chin, even though she smiled.

He wished he didn't do that.

He wanted to talk to her and he didn't know why. Jack explained the whole situation with the Bad Wolf and, for some reason, he did not feel surprised by it. He was beginning to suspect that Kevin was right about him still being in shock from the battle he'd fought in, because he was sure that he was supposed to feel differently about all of this.

For the first time since his return to Earth, he felt calm.

Jack paused his speech to take a sip from a scotch glass and grin at them in the way he did when he knew they were in trouble. "So, all we have to do is somehow capture or destroy the most powerful entity that we know of in existence or reality as we know it will cease to exist. Piece of cake."

 _Wrong_.

Without thinking, Nista raised his hand. "Sir?"

Every pair of eyes turned toward him. Some, like Kevin and Ganbri, looked startled. Others, like Declan and the Doctor, looked confused. But Kel and Harry were looking at him with interest.

Jack narrowed his eyes for half a second but chose not to say whatever thought came into his head. Instead, he simply gestured for him to stand up.

Nista rose to his feet, standing straight and trying not to show any signs of all that 'instability' they seemed so concerned about. "I think you're wrong, sir."

Jack crossed his arms. "Care to elaborate?"

"The Bad Wolf is not the most powerful entity that we know of," he answered quickly. "It needs to steal bodies in order to survive. Its existence depends upon the physical world in at least that respect." He glanced briefly at Rose, not entirely sure what sort of security clearance she'd been given. "I'm referring to the Hall Project, sir."

Whispers rose all around him. Jack shifted his weight, looking a little uncomfortable, before sighing and turning his attention to Rose.

"The Hall Project is the code name for a guest at Torchwood that goes by the name of Edmund," he explained. "As far as we can tell, he created his body himself in order to interact and communicate with us. However, his communication skills are significantly underdeveloped. How do you suggest we involve Edmund in such a dangerous and delicate operation when he can barely speak to us?"

Nista looked to Harry for the answer. The Time Lord's eyes were steady but he did nothing to offer guidance. Nista could tell that he agreed Edmund could be an asset, but also didn't know exactly how.

"I don't have a plan at the moment, sir," he answered slowly. "But I do believe that, at the very least, Edmund could supply us with information. We might be able to learn about how the Bad Wolf's abilities work through him. He could be an advantage for us."

"He's right," Doug's voice suddenly tuned in, loud and clear. "He's done some pretty freaky shit. If anything is on the Bad Wolf's level, it's him."

"Agreed," came Harry's voice next.

"Agreed," Kel joined.

Comments of agreement worked their way through the group. Celeste was the last one but, after a nudge from her brother, she also agreed. Jack looked unhappy, his eyes looking almost sad when they met, though Nista could tell he was trying to conceal it.

"Looks like we have the first step in our plan," Jack said quietly with a slow nod of his head. "The second part of our plan is to try to locate and, if possible, rescue James. He will likely be in need of medical attention so the sooner the better. Ganbri, I want you to work with Harry and the Doctor on that. We need a method of tracking and travel."

The meeting carried on, fine tuning what each member of the team was supposed to focus on. It was dull and he found the delay irritating. He knew that Edmund was their only option and yet they were wasting time on plans that they would never use. They just needed to get to him.

The group was strangely silent as they finally made their way. Nista walked in front, leading the team with Harry at his right and Doug at his left. They were the only ones who didn't seem uneasy.

Edmund was standing in his cell, his toys forgotten on the floor. He had each of his hands pressed to the glass wall, his large, shining eyes watching them eagerly as they came. He had already known they were coming.

Edmund grinned widely. "Hello," he chirped happily as they approached. "Hello. Hello. Hello."

"Sounds like an oversized parrot," Rose murmured quietly.

"Trust me, he's no parrot," Harry muttered in return.

When they finally stood in front of the cell and moved aside to give Rose a full view, Edmund's face simply beamed. He stood up to his full, impressive height, smiling as though Christmas had come early.

"Hello," he said again.

Rose stepped forward hesitantly, her neck craning to look up at Edmund's face. She tried to smile at him but it wasn't entirely believable. Instead, she raised her hand and waved somewhat awkwardly.

"Hello, Edmund."

"I am Edmund," the creature said happily. He raised his hand and it shone with its eerie light, becoming translucent before he pressed it through the glass as though it were nothing but water. "I am here. I am friend. Hello, friend."

The Doctor stepped forward and Harry placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. Nista found himself stepping slightly in the way of Ganbri, who moved as though he might also interfere. He could feel tension in the air. The others weren't sure what to think. They weren't comfortable. But it didn't matter. They would see soon enough. They would see that this would work.

Rose was frowning curiously at Edmund, seemingly oblivious to the subtle hum of discomfort around her. Edmund continued his little chants of "Hello, friend" as his hand reached through the glass, moving slightly closer, inch by inch, but not quite touching.

Rose finally took the cue and reached out her own hand, touching her fingers to the Ghost's.

Edmund grinned wider.

"Hello, Rose."


	5. Chapter 5: The Doctor

It had all happened so suddenly. One minute, they were taking Rose to see Edmund, to search for answers, and the next Kelevra had pulled a gun from his pocket.

"I hate to interrupt," the doctor had said in a perfectly calm voice. "But the rest of this conversation will need to take place at a later time. No need to panic, anyone. This is just a short intermission and then we'll get right back to business."

Under Kel's instruction, Kevin had hesitantly led Harry, J.J., and Doug to separate cells and locked them inside. There was a lot of shouting, swearing, and demands for explanations but Kel didn't seem to mind. Once the cells were locked, Kel had assigned the others to guard duty and asked the Doctor and Jack to step outside for a talk.

Jack's office was messy enough to know that he spent too much time in there. The furniture was old, made of beautiful woods and leathers, and wearing the scars of children that played too rough. There were several photos of J.J. around the room, ranging from when he was the little boy they brought to Earth to the man he was now. There were knickknacks dotting the shelves and hiding in corners—small rocks, toys, and the occasional drawing or craft.

It was the office of a proud and loving father.

"Nista is compromised," Kelevra stated bluntly once the door had closed. "Douglas and the good professor too, I'm afraid."

Jack blinked at him several times, his lips pursing together in thought. "Sit down, Presley," he ordered firmly, gesturing towards the chair before his desk. "I expect a good explanation."

Kel pulled out the chair and sat down, taking a moment to make himself comfortable. Jack stood on the other side of the desk but elected to lean against the bookshelf behind it, rather than sit down. The Doctor followed his lead and stood slightly off to the side, watching carefully as the Zumecki spoke through stolen lips and keeping in mind that he still had a gun.

"All three have had an incident with Edmund in which he seemed to very deliberately touch them and it had an immediate physiological effect on each of them in one form or another," Kel began his explanation. "Douglas didn't get sick like the other two, but he did feel something happening to him."

Jack crossed his arms and tapped his fingers impatiently on his elbow. "We've known this for years. What's your point?"

"Following each incident, all three men exhibited subtle changes in their behavior. They behaved more calmly, especially in Edmund's presence, and seemed more sensitive to his wants and needs. None of them have questioned whether Edmund is safe or trustworthy since their incidents. I believe he has been influencing them."

The Doctor thought back to the day Harry had been touched by Edmund. Immediately after getting sick, Harry sprang back to his feet as though he had just had had the best night's sleep of his life. He remembered Harry talking about having a strange urge to go outside and convincing his colleagues to picnic in the sun for their lunch. He had talked about one of the Doctor's past relationships as though it were funny, not showing the tiniest hint of his usual jealousy.

He'd just thought that Harry was in a good mood.

Jack's eyes narrowed and the Doctor could tell that his mind was racing back through time as well. "Okay, so Edmund somehow influenced them to make them feel calm around him. Explain how that justifies you pull a gun on my team, not to mention my son."

"Edmund knew who Rose was," Kel answered quickly, his voice taking on the slight edge of annoyance. "He was waiting for us. He knew we were coming and he knew exactly who was coming with us and he was clearly happy about it. Nista was the first one to suggest we bring Rose to Edmund. Harry and Doug were the first to agree. The three of them led us there and then, when Edmund reached for Rose, the three of them clearly were stopping anyone that moved as if they were going to interfere."

The Doctor felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and glanced towards his friend. "Those two don't agree with Doug on anything, Jack."

Jack's face took on a grim look and he nodded.

"Edmund worked very hard to get here and we don't know why. He's made Torchwood Headquarters his home, befriended the members, and has, one by one, somehow infected those that didn't trust him with a certain amount of influence. Then we are faced with the events of today . . ." Kel paused, taking a deep breath and shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I think it's possible that Edmund was working some kind of long con to get to Rose, or perhaps to get to the Bad Wolf. I think Edmund used Nista to make that suggestion and, judging by their behaviour once we were in the cells, I think he may have been prepared to use the three of them to fend us off if necessary."

"It's mind control." The Doctor barely managed to get the words out. He didn't want to believe it.

"That would be taking all of the elegance away from it," Kelevra answered in a patient tone. "But yes."

The veins in Jack's forearms and neck were standing out. He was barely containing his fury as he glared at the Zumecki doctor, his words coming out in harsh hisses between his teeth. "How long have you known about this?"

Kel folded his hands on his lap and smiled, apparently unaware that he was one wrong word away from being throttled. "I was suspicious the first time, but I didn't know for sure until he connected with Nista."

The Doctor's eyes widened at what Kel's words implied and he stammered in shock. " _No_."

Kel kept smiling, but at least had the decency to bow his head little. "When Edmund crossed into our world, we had everything aimed at him. I was watching. I saw the first blips of brain waves. I saw everything."

Jack's brows locked together in sudden understanding. "Ganbri was the one who decided we could trust him and brought him back to headquarters."

"My so—my _son_!?" the Doctor suddenly erupted. "You're telling me that that _thing_ has been controlling my son's mind from the day it arrived and you said _nothing_!? You did absolutely nothing!?"

"If Harry finds out, he'll kill you," Jack added, completely serious. He shifted to make sure that Kel was looking him in the eye and repeated himself, saying each word slowly and clearly to make sure he was truly understood. "Kelevra, he will fucking kill you."

Kel shook his head a little, continuing to smile that arrogant little smile of his. "No, he won't. I can promise you that."

"Because Edmund got him too," the Doctor finished the thought aloud.

He felt sick.

Edmund had been a part of their lives for _years_. They'd always said that they couldn't get too comfortable with him or that they should never forget how dangerous he was. They said it all the time but it had still been so easy to let their guard down.

"You might find it a relief to learn that I don't believe Ganbri is under the creature's influence any longer," Kelevra said calmly. "In fact, I don't think he's been under its influence for quite some time. I believe that Edmund's attempt to infect Ganbri was imperfect—whether it was because he was still crossing over or because it was his first try, I don't know. Either way, there have not been any signs of infection for a few years now."

"So the only ones we know about then are J.J., Harry, and Doug," Jack said next. His age was suddenly showing, looking tired and drawn. He crossed his office to the liquor cabinet and pulled down a bottle and a tumbler glass.

"They are the only ones."

"How do you know?" Jack demanded.

Kel smiled again. "I have established ways to monitor anyone who comes into contact with Edmund and kept extensive records. I monitor Edmund as well, obviously."

"We need to see everything," the Doctor said quickly. "And I mean, _everything_. If I find out you've kept anything hidden from us from this point on, we are going to have a _very_ big problem."

Kel looked him straight in the eye, that smile of his hanging frozen on his lips. "I understand how upset you must be, pet, but I prefer honey over vinegar." He stood up from his seat, taking his time to straighten out his suit jacket and adjust his sleeves. "Would you gentlemen care to join me in my office?"

Kel's office was less of an office and more of a full, working laboratory. The room was larger than the house that the Doctor lived in and was impeccably clean. The left half of the room seemed dedicated to some sort of growing operation for a large number of plants, including Kel's infamous ferns. Strangely, the entire wall behind the plants was an enormous collage of screens, all displaying constantly changing graphs and lists of numbers. The right half was home to several work stations, with at least a dozen monitors and half a dozen cryostasis chambers dotted throughout. There was a clear path down the center that led straight to Kel's desk and his impressive collection of filing cabinets.

There were no chairs near the desk, so Kel grabbed a couple from his other work stations to pull over. "I'll spare you the melodramatic attempt at displaying dominance by telling you to sit so that I can stand over you," he muttered, with a sigh for emphasis. "There are chairs. Sit down if you wish."

It wasn't until he pulled several large files from the cabinets and sat down at the desk without paying them any mind that the Doctor decided to take a seat, Jack following immediately after.

Kel dropped several files open onto the desk for them to look at.

"Elevated levels of serotonin, decrease in stress hormones, noted decrease in agitation with other staff." He paused to make eye contact Jack. "That one is mainly applicable to your boy."

Jack scowled at him. "So the short story is that he's calming them down?"

"Not just making them calm," the Doctor added, flipping through the pages and pages of information. "He's making them _happy_."

Kel nodded slowly, a rare look of concern crossing his feature. "A curiosity at first. He seemed to learn everything he knew about communication from watching the team so it stood to reason that he observed people behaving relaxed and happy around their friends."

"Okay, so he was trying to make friends. He was trying to communicate," Jack muttered quickly. He was holding a series of graphs that were labelled with J.J.'s name. "So what was he trying to tell us?"

Kel's frown deepened slightly. "No, Captain. The question to ask is why was he working so hard to make friends?"

There was a moment of pause, in which all three men looked at the overwhelming data and tried to get their bearings. The Doctor just kept shaking his head in disbelief. After Kahlia, he had thought that his family had seen the worst. He didn't think they would ever be in this kind of position again.

They were the Doctor and the Master—the last of the Time Lords. Their names were known across the universe, whether they were praised, feared, or both. They were not men to be easily tricked or manipulated. And they were certainly not men to be crossed lightly. He thought that, for at least a little while, they were safe.

Pride always comes before the fall.

"I don't know if Edmund is working with the Bad Wolf," Kel began again, calmly. "But the evidence suggests that he is involved somehow. For all we know, he _is_ the Bad Wolf. He may actually be our friend, or he may be neutral in this whole thing, and there is the unpleasant but undeniable possibility that he is the enemy."

Jack swore under his breath. "If that's the case, we just hand delivered him the prey."

"But then why is he waiting?" Kel pointed out quickly. "Rose is here, the teleports are shut down, and we have yet to find a wall that Edmund can't pass through. He knows Rose and is interested in her, without a doubt, but is she really who he's here for?"

The Doctor could see it in those pale, blue eyes. Kel was enjoying himself a little bit.

"Enough games," the Doctor growled at him. "Every moment of my time you waste could be putting my family in danger and no number of stolen corpses will protect you if something were to happen to them."

"So touchy," Kel answered with another sigh. "Have it your way."

He turned to the computer on the desk beside him and made quick work of bringing up a file. When he turned the screen, it was security camera footage of Edmund's cell. The Doctor watched as Harry opened Edmund's cell and pulled a bundled up blanket from his hands.

"That's Unna," Jack said, pointing to the bundle. "This is the day that Edmund brought her—"

"Shush, now," Kel interrupted.

He turned up the volume and the speakers crackled to life. Edmund was babbling his usual nonsense—the words 'help', 'friend', and different names. He looked eager, like he was trying to say something important. During his seemingly random strings of words, Edmund touched his fingertip to his own forehead and then pointed down the hall.

Harry gave up and turned to walk away, but Edmund's hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm. Harry's entire body suddenly went rigid, standing perfectly still as if he had been turned to stone, and voice emerged from Edmund that the Doctor had never heard before.

"Help my friend or this one will die."

When Edmund let go, Harry's body visibly relaxed a little, as though he had just been released from an electric current.

"I am here," Edmund said happily.

Kel hit the pause button, turned to the two men before him, and folded his arms across his chest. "Penny for your thoughts?"

" 'I am here'," the Doctor repeated, frowning. "He only says that after he's been away and left his body behind. If that wasn't Edmund, then who was in his body?"

"It might still be Edmund," Jack pointed out quickly. "We think he leaves his body to travel through time, right? It could be him travelling back from the future."

"Excellent point, Captain," Kel chimed in, smiling. "When I first witnessed this event, I wasn't sure what to think of it. It seemed a pretty dramatic way of asking someone to take care of a kitten but, then again, we've seen Edmund place enormous importance on seemingly trivial things. It wasn't unthinkable that he might feel strongly enough about a kitten to put so much work into asking for help—if, indeed, travelling through time is any work for him at all."

"But he did this," Jack said quickly, touching his finger to his own forehead. "I was there when he touched J.J. and he touched his forehead like that."

"It's what he did to Harry too, earlier that day."

Kel smiled a little wider. "Yes. After this interaction, Harry followed the direction that Edmund pointed and found Mr. Nista tending to some wounds. At that point, both men were connected by the fact that they had both been infected. I believe Edmund was trying to ask Harry to assist him."

"Then what point are you trying to make with this?" Jack asked irritably.

The Doctor felt that sinking feeling in his stomach again. "They were different messages."

"I believe so," Kel agreed. "Nista's wound required attention, but it was hardly life threatening. The cat _may_ have died without help but Edmund had already handed over responsibility of the cat's care at that point. These facts, combined with Edmund's apparent travel and what appears to be him further infecting Harry, suggests that Edmund was speaking of someone else. Whether it was an order, a warning, or a threat is up for debate."

Jack sat up quite abruptly, scratching at his chin and the back of his neck. "So . . . say Edmund's friend that he keeps talking about is the Bad Wolf. We know that Doug, Harry, and J.J. are all infected. Does that . . . are you telling me that my friend and my own damn kid would be _compelled_ to turn against us?"

"Harry's mind is too strong for that," the Doctor found himself muttering quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "He couldn't . . . he wouldn't do something like that. Not to us, Jack."

Kel's eyes moved back and forth between them repeatedly, taking several deep breaths. "I am unaware of any being that is able to take away free will. Even the most impressive species are only able to strongly influence. However, I am also unaware of any being that can cross the bridges of reality like it's only a entering new room or momentarily cause an entire room full of people to cease to exist for the sake of a joke. So . . . Harry, with his considerable abilities, may be able to resist the influence held over him. But perhaps not."

"J.J. can't handle that." Jack slammed his fist on the table. "How the fuck could you not tell us!? Do you have _any_ fucking idea what my boy—"

"With all due respect, Captain, my research clearly shows that Edmund's influence has lowered Nista's stress levels," Kel interrupted sharply. "Whatever problems your son is facing, he would be worse off without it. Do not place the blame for your parental woes onto my silence. I watched and gathered information while I could and I intervened when it was necessary. In short, I have done my job."

"Maybe we ought to renegotiate your contract," Jack hissed.

Kel smiled. "Maybe so. But perhaps we can deal with that particular issue tomorrow and deal with the universe-ending monster today?"

It was decided that any further contact with Edmund would be delayed overnight. Infected staff were to be sent home and the portals would be locked down for the night, while uninfected staff were staying in headquarters with Rose, with the exception of Kevin.

Jack had decided that the infected could not be told. Nista was sent home due to his active status not being fully reinstated and Doug was given the assignment to search for any signs of James appearing in their world, which he happily went home to do. Harry and the Doctor were simply dismissed for the day together and told they would be contacted when they had an update.

Suddenly the Doctor found himself alone in a house with a man that he wasn't entirely sure was there. He didn't know how much influence Edmund had or what he was using it for. Was it Harry? Was it something else?

Harry walked into the house without speaking and went straight for the kitchen. Harry always liked to keep his hands busy when he was stressed. The Doctor leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen, watching as Harry began pulling pots and pans from the cupboards.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as casually as he could.

"I don't know. I don't really care," Harry muttered back. "Something edible. What do you want?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want, Lahrre."

Harry tipped his head back and sighed. "Can you please not do that?"

"Do what?"

"That," Harry answered irritably, gesturing in his direction. "Watching me all quiet and sad looking, being all weird like you're walking on egg shells. I'm not mad, okay? It's just been a long day and I just want a decent dinner, so why don't you just tell me what you want and I'll cook it."

The Doctor swallowed and tried to make himself smile. "Okay," he said, a little weaker than he intended. "Um . . . how about salmon?"

Harry always had a temper. He always had a hard time hiding it. He didn't like that Rose was around or that Kel got to point a gun at him and get away with it. He was scared of what might happen next and he hated being scared. Him being a bit snappy meant that he was really Harry, right?

Would Edmund, or whatever had infected him, know how to fake that?

"You want the lemon-herb crust?"

Harry wasn't looking at him. That's what he would do. He didn't want the Doctor to think he was angry, so he would avoid looking at him. He was trying to act casual, just like the Doctor was. Like any person would do. It had to be him in there, seething away and pretending not to. It had to be.

"Sure."

Harry nodded, but his frown was still in place. "We're out of potatoes."

He was Harry.

"I could go get some," he offered quickly.

 _He was_ _Harry_.

"Would you?"

There was no way that his husband's mind was not his own anymore. There was no way that he had been living with an imposter in his husband's body for two years and not noticed. He would _know_.

"Yeah," he answered and, again, his voice came out far weaker than he intended. "I'll go."

Harry sighed again and began walking towards him. "Stop it." He placed a hand on either side of the Doctor's face and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Just go get the damn potatoes. We have the place to ourselves tonight, so we may as well enjoy it."

Somehow, in all this madness, Harry was calm enough to just want to have dinner. Harry would rant about how they owed Rose nothing. He'd be furious that Ganbri stayed in Torchwood when they were made to leave. He'd have demanded to know what Kel had been up to and what had happened in their meeting.

The Doctor tried to smile again. "Of course," he said as he stepped back from the kitchen. "It'll be nice to have some time for just us."

He was scared that he'd go home to an evening of Harry being upset and picking fights.

Instead, it was worse.

He was too calm.


	6. Chapter 6: Jack

It was the first time he'd smoked to deal with stress in twenty years. He thought it would help more than it did.

Rose entered Jack's office just as he was setting his cigar down in the ashtray, looking down at it with disappointment. His scotch glass was empty, the ice cubes left in the bottom slowly melting away. He was tempted to pour another one, but resisted the urge for now. He had to keep his wits about him.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Rose asked as she stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind her. "I mean, something that I don't know about."

"What tipped you off?" he asked sarcastically.

Rose shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. "That bloke waving around a gun was one. The Doctor looking like someone just shot a puppy in front of him was two." She paused, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. "And you looking like you've just been hit by a truck was three. You didn't look like that when I told you about the Bad Wolf. This is something else."

Jack gestured towards the chair on the other side of his desk, inviting her to sit. "Drink?"

Her mouth twitched up at the corner. "Might be a good idea."

That was the only nudge he needed. Jack stood from his desk and moved towards his liquor cabinet, grabbing a fresh glass for Rose. He knew he wouldn't find any answers in cigars or scotch bottles but, at the moment, he wasn't finding them anywhere else either. He hoped that speaking to Rose would give him more answers than questions this time.

He handed her the glass and she gave a quiet word of thanks, then he settled down in his own chair again. He tried to think of where to start and couldn't. His eyes drifted to a photo of J.J. that sat on top of a filing cabinet—ten years old and awkwardly holding a fishing rod as if he were holding a baby for the first time. He picked up the cigar again and inhaled deeply.

Rose followed his eyes. "There's only one thing I can think of that feels heavier than the weight of the universe."

Jack smiled in spite of himself and pointed his cigar at the photo. "That's my kid."

"Yeah," Rose cracked half a smile. "I was told that he bites."

Jack raised his eyebrows, wanting to offer some retort, but staying silent. He couldn't really argue that. On Kahlia's ship, he'd watched J.J. rip throats and other pieces out of men with his teeth and leave the battle with blood running down his neck. It had seemed pretty badass before he'd known that would be the little boy he would raise himself.

"He's a good kid," he said, his voice coming out surprisingly thick. "He's smart, he's loyal, and he works harder than anyone I've ever met. He can be tough on the guys sometimes but he treats his girlfriends like queens and kids like they're made of solid gold. If there is _anything_ that I've done right in my life, it was raising that boy."

Rose was frowning now but she nodded her head. "He'll be alright, Jack. We're gonna stop this all from happening and he'll be okay."

Jack attempted to smile but it faltered. Instead he sighed deeply and took a quick sip of his scotch.

"You said that the Bad Wolf had taken bodies to use. Tell me more about that."

The look in her eyes changed. Rose Tyler had grown a little sharper with age apparently. She looked down into her scotch glass, taking a sip herself before looking back up.

"As far as we can tell, it needs a body to be able to do anything. It can't communicate or move things or really do anything at all without one," she explained. "It takes people . . . uses them like they're puppets or something. I don't know what happens to the people in there when it's using them, but they're gone when it leaves."

"They die?" Jack asked, staring hard down into his glass.

Rose swallowed. "Yeah. Once the Bad Wolf leaves, they just . . . drop. Like they're empty."

"Hmm."

"Jack."

He looked up. Her eyes were full of concern and there was a strain on her face that wasn't there before. She understood what was happening. He supposed he wasn't being terribly subtle about it.

"There's another kind," Rose said, her voice sounding tense but hopeful. "If the Bad Wolf managed to touch someone, it could take control of people without putting its whole self into them. They still seemed just like themselves so, most of the time, we didn't know anything had changed until . . . well, until it was too late. But then we'd run so . . . we don't know what happens to them after the Wolf lets go of them."

He lifted his glass again, taking a moment to sip and think. "Do you think they're still in there? You think they live?"

"It's possible. James suspected that the main point of taking them was to make them spies. The Bad Wolf got all their memories and knew everything they knew and they'd just keep going, supplying new information all the time. He said the best spy is the one who doesn't even know they're a spy."

Was it logic or wishful thinking?

"Did they ever attack you? The ones that had been touched?"

"Once." She looked unsettled and paused to take another sip from her scotch glass. The slight twitches around her mouth after each sip told him that she didn't even like how it tasted. "But they looked . . . upset. Like they were confused and didn't know why they were doing it. That's why James was so sure that it wasn't just the Bad Wolf in their body. It was them. We could see it."

He pondered over her words a little before taking the last swig of scotch in his glass. "Thanks, Rose," he said, standing up from his seat. He put down his empty glass and put his cigar out in the ashtray. "Do me a favour. Don't let Edmund touch you again."

Edmund was alone, as Jack had wanted. He peered up at the ceiling as he made his way towards the cell, knowing that, somewhere, Kel would be watching him.

When he looked through the glass wall, Edmund was crouched on the floor, rolling a ball of red putty around on the floor. Beside him, he had arranged all of his toy animals in a line, organized by size. Jack spotted another pile in the corner, where Edmund had gathered every item he had that could be described as soft.

"Edmund."

Edmund looked up at him, still rolling the putty around, and smiled the smile he had learned from Kel. "Jack."

He waited for the series of parroted words that usually came whenever Edmund saw someone.

Hello. Friend. Jack. Hello.

This time it didn't come.

There was a fold-up chair leaning against the wall that had come to live there over the past seven years. The staff would regularly visit Edmund and chat with him, sitting in that uncomfortable chair for hours in the hopes of gleaning the tiniest fragment of information. And here he was, to try again.

Jack sat down in the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Edmund twisted his body, rotating his head and shoulders towards Jack before allowing his knees to follow. He held the ball of putty in his hands, squeezing it and stretching it, but his eyes remained focused on Jack's face.

Jack narrowed his eyes at the thing before him. "You're not stupid," he said quietly.

"No," Edmund answered.

"You came here for a reason."

"Yes."

Edmund wasn't smiling. His eyes were full of interest and his hands were busy at work with the putty, never stopping.

"What did you come here for?"

Edmund's eyebrows moved together slightly, his head tilting to the side as though he were confused. "Friend."

Jack felt instantly angry. This thing was fucking with him, he knew it. He couldn't believe that a being with Edmund's power could struggle so much to communicate. Language wasn't that difficult. He _had_ to know how to speak.

"Did you come here for Rose?"

"My friend," Edmund answered simply.

"Did you come here for the Doctor?"

"My friend," he repeated again.

Jack scowled. "Did you come here for J.J.?"

"My friend."

"God damn it, Edmund!" Jack barked angrily. "Tell me! Tell me _something_! What did you come here for!?"

Without warning, without so much as a blink, Edmund threw the ball of putty against the glass so hard that Jack actually saw the glass bend a little and the thud hurt his ears. Jack stared at the putty splattered out against the glass, stretched and distorted and thinned to nothing that resembled its previous form. With its red colour, it almost looked like blood spatter.

Edmund gazed at him for a long moment, eerily still, his body not even moving to breathe. Finally, he placed his hand flat against the glass, his long, pale fingers peering over the edges of the red splatter.

"My friend," Edmund repeated again, and he began to gently peel the putty off of the glass. Jack watched as he carefully removed each piece, slowly putting his ball back together.

Jack glanced down the hall and then up at the security cameras, wondering how well Kelevra could hear him. "Edmund," he said quietly, leaning closer. "Did you take J.J.?"

Edmund tilted his head to the side again, confused.

" _This_ ," Jack insisted, putting a finger on his own forehead, just as he had seen Edmund do. "When you did that to him, did you take him?" He pointed at the putty being manipulated in Edmund's hands. "Like that. Is he yours now?"

Edmund blinked slowly. He looked down at the putty and back up at Jack, looking thoughtful.

"Yes."

He didn't know what he had expected but, for some reason, it wasn't that. His heart slid down into his stomach, heavy as a stone.

He licked his lips and tried to stop his voice from shaking as he whispered, "Would you trade?"

Edmund stared at him and said nothing.

" _Me_ ," Jack pressed eagerly. "If I let you have me, would you let J.J. go? The kid is a soldier; I'm the Captain. I'd be more useful." He glanced nervously up at the camera again and dropped his voice to an even quieter whisper. "You let him go. You keep him alive. If you could promise me that J.J. would be okay, I'll do whatever you want. Just take me instead."

Edmund looked him up and down, looking unsure, before simply stating, "No."

"Edmund, please," Jack urged again. "That's my boy. _Please_."

Edmund narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful again. He reached across the floor to where he had his other containers of putty and grabbed hold of both the blue and purple containers. With his eyes on Jack, he pulled out the ball of blue putty and pulled a small piece off of it.

"Edmund," the creature said, holding up the larger portion of blue putty. "J.J.," he said, holding up the smaller section of blue. He then rolled the two pieces together, rejoining them as one ball, the pieces no longer identifiable as separate. He looked up at Jack again, pulled out the purple ball of putty, and held it out towards him. "Jack."

That stone got heavier and Jack swallowed hard, feeling desperate. "What about the Doctor?" he whispered as quietly as he could.

Edmund smiled, almost sadly, and lifted the ball of red putty again. "Doctor."

What could he do? He couldn't threaten or hurt or kill Edmund in any way that he had discovered. If Edmund said no, there was little he could do to change his mind.

There was an answer to everything. There was _always_ an answer to everything. There was a way, he knew it. He just had to find it. But if he couldn't find a way to protect his son through Edmund, where would he find it?

He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment to rub the stinging from his eyes, and stood up. "Just remember what I said," he muttered quietly.

"Thank you, Jack," Edmund said happily. "Goodbye, Jack. Goodbye. I am not here."

And with that, Edmund's body suddenly collapsed to the floor like a doll that had been dropped, the red ball of putty rolling across the floor away from him. His glowing eyes had become dark and lifeless, and his usual smile had given way to the slack-jawed mask of the dead. Rose had said that the Bad Wolf's bodies dropped when it left them, like empty puppets, and suddenly all he could think of was what J.J.'s face would look like when it happened to him.

He felt lightheaded and a little dizzy as he walked down the hallway. He tried to think of how much scotch he'd had in the last hour but quickly decided that wasn't the problem. It was these _things_. Monsters and gods and Time Lords had been manipulating his life for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like to not have someone else to tell him what to do.

What should he do? What _could_ he do?

He gave himself some time to wash his face and pull himself back together before calling the staff. They gathered in one of the smaller, more intimate meeting rooms and Jack started slowly. His mind had been so occupied over his son that it wasn't until it was too late that he realized there were two other people in the room that he was about to put in a similar situation. He was aware that he could have handled it better, but part of him decided that he didn't care.

Ganbri's mouth dropped open slightly when he heard that his father was infected. Celeste's back went completely rigid and her jaw set firmly when she was told that her brother was infected. Jack thought he even saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"Those three are the best in combat," Annie had said quietly, her eyes wide as though she were trying to wake herself from a dream. "Could we be in danger?"

"They're the three with family in the team," Declan said next, as though he were correcting her. "We might be looking at a hostage situation." His face suddenly looked aged, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth showing more prominently as the weight of what he'd been told sunk in. He had a seven-year-old little girl at home.

"Good points," Kel added, his voice noticeably less stressed than the others and perhaps even a little cheerful. "But we could also take note that the three are a terraforming engineer with extensive military experience, a computer programmer, and a weapons specialist. There's an awful lot you could do with such a team of professionals."

Jack hadn't thought of that. "You think he might use them to build a weapon?"

"A living weapon," Ganbri muttered darkly. "A planet-sized weapon. Both."

"Doug wouldn't do that," Celeste interrupted quickly. "No. Those other two might not be too hard to persuade to do that sort of thing, but not Doug. He doesn't have a violent bone in his body. He—he's _incapable_ of hurting people. They're all still in there. They _are_. And my brother would _not_ do that."

"He could," Rose added next. She looked at Celeste, her eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry but, yeah, he could. When the Bad Wolf touched someone, they didn't always seem to understand why they were doing the things they were doing. They just felt compelled to do it."

"Then you must have known some pretty fucking stupid people," Celeste snapped. "Doug's not stupid enough to be compelled into doing something that would hurt people. He would know something was wrong and he would _stop_. He's a good boy—a gentle boy. He always has been."

"This is all worst-case scenario though, right?" Annie said quickly. "I mean, Edmund might be harmless. He could just be trying to make them feel good or something, right?"

"We need to tell them," Ganbri spoke up. "Either Edmund is trying to use them for something harmful or he isn't. If he isn't, then none of it matters. But if he is, then our only chance is for them to try to resist him. And either Edmund has full control over them or he doesn't. If he doesn't, then they can fight it. But only if we tell them."

"Yes," Celeste agreed eagerly. "They're smart and strong-willed enough, all three of them. If we tell them, they stand a chance."

Jack glanced to Kelevra. The doctor scratched at his chin thoughtfully.

"Agreed," Kel said with a nod. "It's the best option we have besides killing them. And I'm sure no one is too keen on that idea."

"We tell them," Jack confirmed, loudly enough to be heard over the growing voices. "But we need a better plan than that. We need to find out how to stop the Bad Wolf and we need to find out if Edmund is involved with it. We need as much information on this as we can get and the person who probably knows the most about the Bad Wolf and how it works is missing." He looked to Rose and saw the way her eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "We need to find James."

The team went to work frantically. Celeste disappeared for a short time and came back with reddened eyes, but she sat down at her desk with her jaw set hard and got to it. Ganbri was so stressed out that his hands were visibly shaking, but he pushed through it. And Declan had gone so pale that he looked like he might faint, but he pushed his glasses up his nose and set to work. This wasn't just about saving every universe in existence anymore. This was about saving their _families_.

Could they do it? Jack wasn't so sure.

He thought of what it looked like to watch Edmund's empty body drop again. He thought of every pair of lifeless eyes he'd ever looked into. He looked around his office, dotted with photos and mementos of his boy. The evidence of his existence filled the room so that, no matter where Jack looked, he saw his son. He'd made it that way on purpose, to stop him from ever giving up.

And it still convinced him not to give up.

His son was still there, he knew it. And Jack would not allow him to be discarded like a broken puppet. He'd pass the gates of Hades and fight the Devil himself to drag that boy back if he had to. Nothing would stop him, no matter what the cost.

If the team failed, Jack would still succeed.


	7. Chapter 7: Ganbri

Focus was impossible.

Everything was too loud. Every clack on a keyboard, every scratch of a pencil, every tap of a mug being put down—the noises screamed at him. He could hear his own hearts beating, pounding away in his chest, loudly reminding him of what he was. The words blurred together when he tried to read them. He didn't know if it was because he couldn't focus or if he needed reading glasses.

He startled himself every time he caught a glance of the reflection in his computer screen. Who was that? Then he'd remember and scold himself for being stupid.

He needed to focus. He _had_ to focus. This was so important and he was allowing himself to get hung up on random sounds and his own reflection.

Idiot.

Tokrah needed him to focus. He might die. He might already be dead. He might murder Banni and not even know he was doing it. Anything could be happening and he was wasting time staring at his own stupid face.

And his hearts thundered. And his chest hurt. And if he let himself think about how it hurt, he could almost feel the bullet gliding through him and he could almost hear the quiet little wet sound that it made.

"Ganbri?"

He looked up and saw Annie's eyes staring at him around the side of his computer monitor. She had insisted that they work together, taking desks that were pushed together, facing one another. She was leaned to the side in her seat, looking around their screens at him and smiling ever so slightly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he cleared his throat and smiled back. "I just, uh—I think I might need glasses. I left my eyes—I mean, my old eyes, uh . . ." He gave up, realizing that he had no idea what he was trying to say, and felt a little heat rush to his face.

"Do you need to take a break?"

"No," he answered quickly. "No, I'm fine."

His eyes were gone. He realized that that was what he had wanted to say. His sister murdered him and he bled and he died and his eyes were gone.

He glanced down at his hands, hovering over the keyboard, waiting. His fingers were long and clean of scars. His knuckles and fingertips didn't wear the years' worth of calluses that he had earned. They weren't his, but they moved when he wanted them to anyway.

His hands were gone too. They dissolved into energy and light and drifted off without him.

A shiver ran down his spine and he forced himself to look up. Annie was still watching him. Normally, he liked it when Annie looked at him but today it was making him uncomfortable. He looked away quickly, trying to find something to focus on.

" _Ganbri_ ," Annie's voice whispered urgently.

He felt the warmth of her hand over top of his. She had stood up and leaned across their desks to reach him. She was trying to make eye contact. She wanted him to link with her. She wanted to make him feel better, he knew.

But all he could think about was that she wasn't holding _his_ hand.

He pulled his hand back and felt a ripple of hurt emerge from Annie like a sound. He felt it, whether he wanted to or not.

"Sorry," he blurted quickly.

He stood up from his desk. His legs were longer than he remembered and he bumped his thighs against the edge of it, causing Annie's cup of coffee to shake and spill a little. He reached out to pick up the cup, hoping to stop it somehow, but his fingers were too long. He knocked the cup over, spilling coffee all over the surface of the desk. Annie made a small sound of surprise and yanked papers out of the way.

"Shit. Sorry. Sorry," he muttered repeatedly. He tried to help, grabbing the jacket off the back of his chair to absorb the coffee before it spread. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."

"It's fine," Annie assured him quickly, making herself smile. "Stop fussing. You're ruining your jacket."

She smiled differently when it wasn't real and the jacket was already ruined. He heard other people's thoughts whispering to him—worried and confused and wondering—and he wanted them to be quiet.

She reached for his hand again but thought better of it.

"I think you should get some air," she said instead. Her voice was kind. She wasn't angry. He could feel the emotions coming from her and she was sad and worried. She wanted to touch him but he took a step back.

"Yeah," he agreed quickly.

She offered to go with him but he was already turned away and walking. His legs were longer, so he walked faster than he was used to. He felt Celeste's eyes on his back and heard Declan's thoughts worrying about him, so he walked faster. He didn't want them to worry. He didn't want to frighten anyone. He just needed to get away.

He just needed—

"Ganbri, stop."

He stopped on the spot, blinking and realizing that he didn't really have his own breath. He'd nearly been running.

"Not now, Kel," he answered, his voice gruff.

Kel's voice was perfectly steady when he answered, and Ganbri sensed nothing but calm. "I can't let you go that way."

"I'll go wherever the fuck I want!" Ganbri barked back. He turned on the spot quickly, facing the strange man with a snarl on his face.

But Kel just looked so damn calm.

"What made you think to go this way?"

Ganbri wanted to tell him to fuck off. He even wanted to hit him. It wasn't Kel's business where he was going. Hell, it was Kel's _fault_ that they were in this situation. The man was surely some kind of psychopath and if he had warned the team earlier about—

He froze, a sick realization coming over him. He looked over his shoulder in the direction that he had been going. He didn't know why he was going that way. He had no reason to. The hallway led to Edmund.

His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard, barely managing to whisper, "Kel, am I infected?"

"No," Kel answered simply. "I don't think so. I can't say for certain because I'm not entirely sure of everything that the infection changes. But I know that you _were_ infected, once."

Ganbri blinked "I was?"

Kel smiled at him and, for once, it didn't look creepy. "Yes," he answered gently. "Edmund has a calming effect on the people he infects. Your subconscious might remember that."

Was he going to Edmund with the intention of being infected again? He didn't remember ever being infected. He didn't remember ever feeling like he wasn't in control of himself. But he did blackout at Edmund's feet and woke up paralyzed on the day they met. He did look into the eyes of an unknown being that had just crippled him and decided it was trustworthy. Had he not been in control of himself? Was that decision not his own?

"May I?"

Ganbri looked up again and saw Kel holding his arms out. Ganbri raised an eyebrow at him.

"Normally, one of your fathers would do this," Kel explained, still speaking slowly and calmly. "They aren't here and I'd like to help."

Well, that was fucking weird. Ganbri frowned at him, feeling uncertain, but the man just kept smiling at him and waiting. Ganbri hesitantly stepped toward him, his body rigid as he moved. Kel readily wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. He had sort of expected a hug from Kel to feel strange, but he was surprisingly good at it.

It was comfortable. It was _comforting_.

"You don't trust me," Kel muttered quietly in his ear. "That's okay. I trust very few people myself."

Kel sighed slowly and squeezed him a little tighter. Ganbri was so used to Kel being an unreadable mask that he never thought much about what went on in his head other than that he was strange. The man had built walls around himself so thick that even Tokrah had to work at learning anything about him. But in that moment—a moment that he _never_ imagined would happen—he actually felt emotion coming off of Kel that was strong enough for him to feel without reaching for it. It was so complex that Ganbri wasn't even sure what it was, but it made him decide to hug back.

"Listen to me, pet. I am very good at my job and I am very stubborn. Trust me with this one."

Ganbri nodded stiffly. "Okay."

Kel let go of him then, giving him an extra little squeeze on the shoulder when he stepped back. "I'm telling Jack that you're a liability. It's true anyway. You need to go home. See your family. Talk. Sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Kel placed his hand between Ganbri's shoulder blades and began to usher him back the way he'd come. "But we're in lockdown," Ganbri answered him.

He didn't see it, but he knew that Kel smiled. "Jack will listen to me."

Ganbri glanced over his shoulder before they turned the corner and saw Edmund crouching silently at the end of the hall.

Jack had agreed to let Ganbri leave and Kel kept him company while they waited for the teleport to reactivate. Jack was only willing to leave them on for a couple of minutes, so Ganbri had to get inside and leave the moment it came on. Kel didn't try to hug him again, nor did he say anything more to suggest what he might be thinking. The doctor simply smiled that serene smile of his as Ganbri stepped into the teleport. For once, Ganbri caught himself smiling back, however weak a smile it might have been.

The house was dark and silent. Ganbri leaned into the kitchen to check the time and saw that it was almost midnight. Banni didn't usually go to bed so early but the day had been strange for everyone. He had probably spent the day fretting and exhausted himself.

He didn't really know what he had expected. For some reason, he had thought that he would just feel better once he was home. Calmer, safer, just _normal_. The thought of going home was so appealing but, now that he was there, what was he supposed to do?

The clock ticked in the kitchen, loud and insistent. The house felt empty, even though he knew his parents must be home. Part of him wanted to go to them, to shove his way in between them and fall asleep to Banni humming quietly and Tokrah gently stroking his hair, like they did when he was little. Once upon a time, there wasn't a trouble in the world that couldn't be helped by that.

He stared up at the staircase. He told himself to go to his parents. He told himself to go to bed. He told himself to just _go_.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he could have sworn that the walls looked like they were dripping in the darkness, wet fingers slowly reaching for the floor. And somewhere—whether it was in the house or in the back of his mind, he couldn't be sure— _somewhere_ , he heard a low and chilling growl.

He didn't remember looking for Banni's keys. He didn't remember finding them, for that matter. He vaguely remembered locking the door behind him and staring up at the dark windows, looking for signs of life inside the house. But it stayed dark and still. There was nothing there.

The skies were clear as he drove, and the constellations watched him as he fled his own home. There were strangers in the streets, many of them talking or laughing loudly under the clear influence of alcohol. He found himself wondering how many of them knew that their lives were hanging by a string in the hands of a group of people whose sanity could easily be brought into question. He didn't even know who they were and they didn't know him, but he might get them killed anyway.

He didn't know where he was going until he found himself parking at Uncle Jack's house. He didn't know why it surprised him. Where else could he possibly go now?

He chewed on his lip, hands squeezing the steering wheel. What was he doing? What was he hoping to achieve here? He didn't know if any part of his mind had a clue why he had gone there.

He swore under his breath and pulled his phone from his pocket. J.J. might be asleep and it was damn near considered a sin to wake him up, but Kevin was a little more relaxed about that sort of thing. He sent a text before tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. He waited, staring at the front door. This house was dark too, but he could see the flickering of a distant light in one window.

His phone chirped loudly and he grabbed it to find Kevin's reply.

' _Come on in._ '

He didn't hesitate to get out of the car. The night was warm but he still felt a chill as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. Kevin hadn't come to the door but Ganbri had had a key for Uncle Jack's house since he was twelve. It wouldn't be the first time he'd let himself in.

He kicked his shoes off at the front door, did a quick scan for any trip wires or traps out of habit, and made his way through the dark house. He could hear a TV quietly echoing through the house, the dim glow of its screen flickering from down the hallway.

J.J. never used to keep a television in his room but it seemed that one had been moved in there since Kevin had come to stay. Ganbri turned the corner to find Kevin settled quite comfortably in J.J.'s bed with several pillows propped up behind him so that he could watch the TV.

"Hey," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "Alright?"

He'd been told that Kevin and J.J. slept in the same bed but, for some reason, he'd never really pictured it before and it seemed odd to him. He'd shared a bed with J.J. before too, but it never really looked like what he was seeing. Both men were under the blankets and sheets and Kevin had his shirt off. J.J. had always preferred contact with another person when he slept, but he was rested right up against Kevin, with his cheek resting on the other man's chest and Kevin's arm around his shoulder. Ganbri immediately spotted several small scratches on Kevin's chest, including one that was fairly fresh with a tiny drop of blood welling out of it, where J.J.'s teeth must have caught him whenever he moved his head.

Ganbri shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling very awkward. "He asleep?" he asked, nodding his head towards J.J.

"Oh, yeah," Kevin answered quickly. "He's got some damn good prescriptions. It takes a lot to get him to sleep these days but, once he's out, he's impossible to wake up. Heavy as a rock too."

He spotted three prescription bottles on the nightstand. Normally, J.J. would have leapt out of bed, wide awake, the moment the front door opened. The fact that Ganbri had been able to enter his bedroom while he was asleep gave testament to the strength of whatever pills were in those little bottles.

"You want me to help you get out?"

Kevin smiled a little, as though amused. "Nah. His teeth scratch me every time I move and I was planning to call it a night soon anyway."

Ganbri frowned. "Why not just wear a shirt?"

"I usually do," Kevin answered with a shrug. "But he likes the feel of skin. It just makes him less likely to wake up."

Ganbri made a small humming noise of acknowledgement but wasn't entirely sure what to say.

Kevin chuckled and shook his head a little. "Look, mate, I know what it looks like, but it's only weird if you make it weird. I don't care what he wants me to do as long as it helps. Now do you want in on this, or what?"

Ganbri felt his back stiffen a little and stared and Kevin with uncertainty. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed. What was he doing there? He was acting like a little kid. Like a goddamned _kid_.

"I, uh—I really should—"

"Hey," Kevin interrupted quickly. "I know about it. You guys have been friends since you were kids and you've been climbing into each other's beds on bad days since day one. Today was a pretty shit day. I might be in the way a bit, but there's still room."

Ganbri frowned a little deeper, pointing a finger at the Alreesh sleeping on Kevin's chest. "We don't really, uh . . . _snuggle_."

"That's okay." Kevin shrugged again and turned his eyes back to the TV. "It's new for me too. Just do whatever makes you comfortable."

Ganbri stood there for a moment longer, hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Whatever Kevin said, it felt like he had intruded on something private. He was considering just saying goodnight and leaving when Kevin sighed heavily.

"Just grab a fucking blanket and lay down, Ganbri."

His feet moved before he had time to think about it. There were extra blankets in a trunk in the bottom of the closet, and he dug one out wordlessly. Kevin pulled one of the pillows out from behind his back and dropped it on the mattress beside him just as Ganbri approached. He climbed onto the bed and laid down on top of the blankets, spreading his own blanket on top of himself.

He watched J.J. for signs of waking as he shifted and adjusted to get comfortable. He'd fallen asleep beside J.J. a hundred times before, but he'd never seen him sleep so heavily. It made him wonder what kind of meds they were giving him.

"You wanna watch something?"

Ganbri blinked at the TV. Kevin was watching some sort of documentary on a series of murders, the screen constantly cycling through photos of evidence and video clips of people being interviewed. The murder scene was supposed to be bloody and brutal, but the spray didn't look like much to Ganbri.

"No," he answered quietly. "This is fine. I'm just gonna go to sleep."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

He pressed his knees against Kevin's legs, bunched his blanket up in his arms, and pulled it against his chest. It took a long time to fall asleep and, a few times, he starting feeling the anxiety from before creeping up on him again. Kevin somehow knew each time and would reach over and squeeze or rub his shoulder in encouragement. He even touched his hair once, like Tokrah did. It helped.

He knew he had nightmares, but he couldn't remember what they were. He knew he woke up at least once to find Kevin holding his wrist firmly, looking as though he had caught it on the way to his throat. He never said anything about it. He just placed Ganbri's hand gently back down on the mattress, pulled the blanket back over his shoulder, and told him to go back to sleep.

He laid his head on the pillow, startled by how hard his hearts were pounding. His chest hurt with phantom pain and he could smell blood. He thought it was some remnant of his forgotten dreams until he realized it was growing stronger, rather than fading.

"Kevin?" His own voice came out sounding small.

"It's fine," Kevin answered quickly in his best attempt at hushing tones. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry."

Kevin struggled against J.J.'s dead weight and managed to wriggle out of the bed, reassuring Ganbri that he was fine the whole way. He wasn't sure what to do, so he laid still, like he was told.

He stared at J.J. in the dark. His friend still appeared to be asleep, but his face was tense and his hand was twitching, grasping at the sheets. Ganbri knew that if he wasn't medicated, he'd be wide awake right now. He'd probably be mad about whatever had just happened.

J.J. shifted in his sleep, brows knitting together, and Ganbri caught the sight of a red smear beside his mouth. He supposed that whatever Kevin had to do to defend himself had caused J.J.'s teeth to cut him again, though a little deeper this time. He heard muttered curses drifting from the open door and the sound of the tap in the bathroom running. He realized that the pain he felt in his chest was a sensation he had accidentally picked up off of Kevin.

Ganbri wanted to hide under the covers and let the darkness swallow him up, he was so ashamed. Was that the first time he had lashed out in his sleep? What exactly had he tried to do?

He pretended that he was asleep when Kevin came back to the room, but kept one eye cracked open just enough to see. Kevin had put a dressing on the wound so Ganbri couldn't see quite how bad it was, but he could still smell the blood. He could smell the sweat starting to bead on J.J.'s forehead and feel the vibrations of his muscles slowly tensing one by one.

He was fighting the drugs, trying to wake up. He was afraid. Ganbri could feel the fear ebbing from him like a dim light growing stronger. He could probably taste the blood on his lips. His hand gripped at the sheets and a quiet grunt escaped his throat. Ganbri wished he could do something to help, but he was afraid he'd only make it worse.

"Hey," Kevin's voice whispered softly. "It's okay."

He watched as Kevin bent down at the bedside, putting his hand on J.J.'s shoulder. J.J.'s eyes opened slowly, but Ganbri was able to recognize the lethargic lack of focus of someone who wasn't really awake. His hand reached up to Kevin's on his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"You're alright," Kevin continued whispering. "Look at me, Jack. Look at me for just a second."

He put a finger under J.J.'s chin to guide him and Ganbri watched as those golden eyes grew wide and fought to focus. His deep breathing was coming out a little faster, trying to wake up, trying to find out what was wrong. Kevin produced a damp washcloth and gently wiped the blood from J.J.'s face, careful to make sure his lips and fangs were clean. J.J. produced a few odd sounds, barely conscious attempts to speak, and Kevin muttered words of comfort as though he somehow understood.

Eventually, Kevin climbed back into the bed, carefully crawling up the center and trying his best not to disturb Ganbri. Ganbri watched as J.J. lifted his head with half open eyes, waiting with expectation as Kevin settled in beside him, and then laid it back down again on the other man's chest with Kevin's arm wrapped around him. His face relaxed again, but he reached one hand out in front of him, fingers stretching and searching. It looked far too familiar and instinctual when Kevin responded to the movement by reaching out his own hand to meet it.

They fell asleep with their fingers entwined.

Ganbri could have sworn that he only closed his eyes for a minute but he heard his name being called and suddenly there was daylight in the room when he opened them again. He was alone in the bed. The blankets were thrown back from where his sleeping companion's had climbed out.

"Fucking hell," he could hear J.J.'s voice from the hallway. He sounded unhappy. "Don't let me fucking do that then. Jesus, Kevin."

"It's fine, really," Kevin answered in a cheerful voice. "It makes my surgery scars less conspicuous. With enough of them, I can make up some bullshit story about being a cage fighter or something and sound really cool."

J.J.'s sounded bored when he answered, " _No one_ would believe that you're a cage fighter."

"Grenade shrapnel?"

"No." Footsteps moved towards the bedroom door and suddenly J.J.'s face appeared in the frame. "I said get the fuck _up_ , Ganbri!" he barked. "Time to save the world, asshole!"

Ganbri quickly rolled out of bed. He made it into the hallway just in time to see Kevin close the bathroom door behind him. The shower turned on a second later.

J.J. was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He looked up when Ganbri entered and put an onion and a knife down on a cutting board pointedly.

"Make yourself useful."

J.J. always avoided cutting onions himself if he could. He said he didn't like having his vision impaired. Ganbri rubbed his eyes and stepped up to the counter, obediently setting to work. J.J. tossed a bunch of fruit and protein powder into a blender and set it going with his back turned. He wasn't talking.

Was it really as awkward as it felt?

Ganbri waited until J.J. had turned the blender off and turned back around before clearing his throat. "So . . ."

J.J. looked up at him, only looking mildly interested. "Couldn't sleep last night?" he offered.

"No, not really." He cleared his throat again, not entirely sure what he wanted to ask. "Hey, look, uh . . . so are things, um . . . _different_ . . . for you since we came back?" It wasn't his business, he decided quickly. He shouldn't ask anything.

J.J.'s brows moved together. "Yeah, I cut my fucking face in half, I'm not working, and Kel put me on a bunch of meds. How about you, sunshine?"

Ganbri cracked a smile and used the knife in his hand to make a sweeping gesture over his whole body. "I can only run for, like, ten minutes. It sucks."

"We'll fix that."

He nodded, not doubting it. Once J.J. was reinstated, Ganbri had no doubt that he'd be getting his ass kicked daily in the gym until he was back in shape. He highly doubted that he'd be able to be any real threat to Nista in the ring now. He was already imagining what it would feel like to be bruised and bloodied like a little boy in training again. It hardly seemed fair.

He went back to chopping the onions while J.J. set to work on cracking eggs. It felt comfortable for a moment. And then it didn't again. J.J. caught him staring again and the Alreesh shook his head in annoyance.

"Fucking _Du'ati_ , Ganbri, just _ask_."

Ganbri felt a bit of heat creeping up his neck. "Ask what?" he asked innocently.

Nista levelled him with a glare, golden eyes piercing through him.

The heat moved up to his cheeks and he focused his eyes on the cutting board beneath him. ". . . Are you and Kevin together?"

"No," J.J. answered bluntly. "See how easy that was?"

"Okay," he answered quickly. The onion was starting to get to him now and his eyes were beginning to burn.

J.J. sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth, taking a moment to ponder his own words. "Listen. You're my best friend, mate," he started slowly, carefully. "But you're crazy. You're fucked up more than you think. And your parents—fuck, mate . . . Even Jack—"

"You're fucked up too," Ganbri spat back quickly.

J.J. shot him another glare to silence him. It reminded him of his Tokrah—too much like Tokrah. He cleared his throat, holding eye contact with Ganbri for a moment to ensure that he would not be interrupted again.

"Kevin grounds me," he explained in a voice that was eerily calm for J.J. "I'm better when he's around. I don't know what that means exactly, but it works for me."

"Okay."

He finished chopping the onion and swept the pieces into the bowl of eggs that J.J. had scrambled. His eyes burned and were full of tears and he stopped at the sink to wash his face. J.J. didn't say anything else. He tossed the eggs into the frying pan and worked silently while Ganbri washed the stinging from his eyes.

He thought about the words J.J. had used—so carefully chosen. Was he saying that Ganbri had let him down?

"Morning." Kevin stepped into the kitchen, ruffling his hair with a towel. He paused in the doorway and leaned over a bit, getting a better look at Ganbri's face. "Alright, mate?"

"Yeah," Ganbri answered quickly, turning the water back on for a last rinse. "Just chopping onion."

"He normally makes me do that," Kevin answered with a grin. "I'm lucky today."

'Kevin," J.J. said from the stove. Ganbri couldn't see him. "Take over for a minute."

Kevin stepped past Ganbri with a nod of his head and an easy smile, and J.J. left without another word. Ganbri turned the water off and reached for a towel, drying his face as he turned around. Kevin was happily at work and offered no teasing remarks about Ganbri climbing into bed with him the night before.

"What do you think?" Ganbri asked quietly, nodding his head towards the doorway that J.J. had just left through.

"Jack?" Kevin shrugged his shoulders, smiling slightly. "I don't know what the infection really means, but that's him. It's definitely him. I know it."

"Right." Ganbri put the towel down on the counter and leaned back against it. "That's good." He crossed his arms, frowning as he bore through the remaining sting in his eyes. "Hey, do you know what _Du'ati_ means?"

"Yeah. It means patience," Kevin answered without a second thought. "Well, actually, it's the name of one of the Alreesh goddesses, but her whole thing was patience so . . . You should know that, though," he added with a chuckle. "He says it all the time."

Ganbri shrugged his shoulders and found himself unable to meet Kevin's smile. "Does he?"

"Yeah."

That stinging was still stubbornly lingering in his eyes.

"I never noticed."


	8. Chapter 8: Nista

Something was up. They weren't telling him something.

He noticed when he walked down the Torchwood hallways that mouths were too quiet and eyes were too shifty. No one was talking. Declan looked at him as though he was looking at a ghost, not averting his gaze fast enough. Maybe it was just his head.

He brushed his fingers along the wound running beside his eye and disappearing into his hair. It was swollen and felt a little more tender than usual. He supposed it was possible that it looked enflamed. Something told him that wasn't it though.

People were moving towards Jack's office silently. Nista knew that _he_ had a meeting with Jack, but he was unaware that it was meant to be a group thing. Celeste nodded stiffly at him and walked briskly past him, her long legs making her walking pace much faster than his own. He made eye contact with Doug and saw that he looked just as confused as Nista felt.

"Was there some kind of breakthrough?" he asked quietly.

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Everything is just so fucking weird right now that I gave up on trying to know what the fuck is happening. _I_ made some progress though."

He caught Annie's eye and she smiled weakly at him—her fake smile. So she knew something then. She wasn't talking either.

Jack's office wasn't really meant to hold more than a couple of people. Nista ducked down a little to squeeze between elbows and make his way to the far side of the room, where he could find a little room to himself. Doug had less luck. His massive frame bumped everyone no matter how he moved, and all he could do was swear and apologize repeatedly.

Nista leaned back against the wall and waited. Watched. Harry and the Doctor were there. The Doctor looked sick. Ganbri was in the corner, a noticeable distance from his parents. Doug was standing next to Celeste and, though he grinned widely at her and said good morning, all she did in greeting was grab his hand. Kevin wasn't there.

Why wasn't anyone talking?

Jack came in next, keeping his eyes focused downwards as he walked to his desk. When he did look up, his eyes went straight to Nista. He looked sad again. And tired. Nista was certain he hadn't come home last night. Again.

He offered Jack a nod of acknowledgment.

Jack nodded back and moved behind his desk, but he didn't sit down. "Long night," he groaned. He put his hands on the back of his chair and leaned his weight on it. He looked up again and made an unconvincing attempt at a smile. His eyes looked heavy. "You look good, kid."

"Pardon me, Douglas. Hello everyone. Excuse me."

Kel edged his way through the group, clutching a massive binder and several folder to his chest, pushing a box on the floor in front of him with his foot. Doug quickly shook free of his sister's hand to bend down and pick up the box.

Kel beamed at him. "Thank you," he said happily. "Could someone please close the door?"

Someone shut the door. Kel dropped everything in his arms onto Jack's desk and Doug followed with the box. Kel smiled at everyone widely, and held his arms out as though he were going to welcome them all, but he suddenly stopped and glanced back at Jack.

"Sorry, Captain," he said quickly, stepping aside to give everyone a full view of Jack. "Would you care to start?"

Jack shook his head. "You take it, Presley," he answered quietly. "I'm a family member."

A sudden sense of panic shot up Nista's spine and he quickly surveyed the room again. _Family members._ He saw the way Harry and Doug's eyes were also scanning the room with interest. They were the three that had been separated from the group yesterday. Well, shit, that wasn't good.

"Okay," Kel rubbed his hands together and smiled again. "We have a bit to cover. Let me just . . ." He flipped through the folders he had brought in with him, before pulling one free. "Here we are! Professor Mott, would you be kind enough to look through the information in here, please? Tell me what you see."

He handed the folder to Harry, who eyed him with a suspicious look before accepting it. He opened it and gazed at the contents with a small furrow between his brows, then began flipping through pages.

"This is someone's brain activity," he said, looking up at Kel with a deeper frown. "The patient's name is blacked out. Whose brain is this?"

"Why, is something wrong with it?" Doug asked curiously, leaning over Harry to peak. "Because you know it'll be one of us."

"We'll get to the patient in a moment," Kel replied, maintaining that pleasant tone of his. "I want you to look at the graphs. What do they show you?"

"Are we finally diagnosing Nista?" Doug blurted. "I _told_ you you're bipolar or some shit, mate. Look at this!"

"Shut your mouth, Doug," Nista hissed in return.

Harry yanked the papers away from Doug's prying eyes and Celeste gave her brother a smack on the arm.

"I didn't think you'd be able to read that." Kel's eyes watched him carefully. "Are you familiar with the workings of the brain, Doug?"

"No," Doug answered with a shrug. "But there's a bunch of activity in some areas and then it stops and all the opposite stuff starts being active. So that's, like, bipolar disorder, right? It's Nista's, right?"

"Seriously, Doug, what the fuck?" Nista barked at him, scowling.

"May I remind you both that this is a _meeting_?" Jack's voice interrupted sternly.

Nista's back straightened instantly. "Sorry, sir."

Doug smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Captain."

"The changes are sudden and don't seem to follow—you know what?" Harry snapped the folder shut and handed it back to Kel. "I'm not in the mood for games today. Tell us what's going on."

Kel's smile remained in place, but Nista caught an annoyed tension in his eyes. "Of course, pet," he said, opening up the folder again. "I can explain it to you." He opened the folder that Harry had been holding for the others to see. He briefly explained how to read the graph and what the different parts meant.

The recorded activity was strange in that the patient could go from showing signs of stress or anger to being flooded with calming hormones in a heartbeat. No one calms down that fast. There were patterns that showed the patient being unusually calm and happy for hours at a time, but then the activity would change dramatically in a short period of time.

"For a frame of reference, look at this patient's records," Kel continued, pulling another folder from his stack. "This is what we would consider normal activity."

The graph looked very different. The ups and downs were more slow and steady than the sudden spikes and plummets from the other graph. It showed that the patient was fairly calm and happy throughout the day and their mood tended not to waver too much or too suddenly.

"There is little evidence of natural illness, and no evidence of drugs or any other chemical interference," Kel explained, opening more and more folders. Most appeared normal, but a couple had the same erratic patterns. "The brain just seems to be making these alterations as though it's perfectly natural. So the question is, what is causing this?"

The room was only quiet for a few seconds before Harry spoke up. "A strong enough telepath could do that," he said slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "There's not many that can but . . . it's possible."

Harry's eyes suddenly took on a dark look and he glanced sideways at the Doctor. He'd figured something out. Nista's eyes shot back towards the folders lying open on the desk. Three were showing the erratic patterns—signing of telepathic manipulation. One of the erratic ones showed signs of being happy and overly active the majority of the time and would dramatically drop to calm levels with only the occasional plummet, and he immediately he knew who it belonged to. He looked back at the room, at all the family members with solemn faces.

 _Shit_.

Doug frowned deeply, scratching at the back of his neck. "So who's getting their mind controlled?"

"Us." Harry had said it quietly but there was no doubt in his voice. "This meeting is about _us_ , Doug."

Nista looked to Jack, but Jack was holding his hand over his mouth and staring firmly at his desk.

He cleared his throat. "And me," he said, watching as Jack didn't respond with any hint of surprise.

"Well, that makes things a little easier." Kel went on to explain everything they knew and everything that they _thought_ they knew, including that Ganbri was also believed to have once been infected. Harry had surprisingly little to say about that. Then again, he supposed that he didn't have anything to say about it either. It was then that Kel explained that they had learned that the Bad Wolf also infected people in a similar way, and what had come of it. They were worried that Edmund had similar ideas.

"No fucking way," Doug protested loudly once Kel had finished. "I'm supposed to believe that Edmund's the bad guy now?"

"We're mainly focusing on the possibility of what you might be influenced to do," Kel answered.

"Wait, so _I'm_ the fucking bad guy now!?"

"Douglas, please!" Celeste suddenly shouted, sounding exasperated. Her voice cracked at the last second, and she took a quick inhale of air before hiding her face behind her hand. He'd never seen Celeste cry before and she was trying hard to keep it that way.

Doug's face fell and he quickly turned to his sister, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest.

Just like that, he was calm.

Nista suddenly became extremely aware of himself. He was calm too. After what he'd just learned, he knew that he shouldn't be calm. He didn't want to be calm right now. He didn't want to feel like Edmund was controlling him. He might die. If what they said was true, Edmund could just let go of him at any moment and he'd just be dead. Just like that. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He shifted uncomfortably and looked towards the window that looked out into the hall. Where was Kevin?

The wound around his head throbbed and itched and he scratched beside his eye without thinking. The cut tore open and he felt the warm wetness on his fingers before he even looked at them. He'd been restless and itching to get back into Torchwood for two weeks and suddenly he realized that he didn't want to be there at all. He wanted to go home.

He wrapped his fingers around his wrist, instinctually looking for his leather bracelet and not finding it there. Mother wasn't with him here. Instead he moved his fingers to an old scar on his palm and ran them back and forth over that, trying to believe he was safe.

Kel's eyes were surveying the room, his eerie smile faltering slightly. "I think now would be a good time to take a break," he said slowly. "Absorb the information you've been given. Process it. We need to decide how we're going to proceed and if we can learn anything helpful from this. I have plenty of copies of these files for you to hold onto. Some fresh eyes on this might help."

Kel opened the box he had brought with him and started handing out packages of folders as the room emptied. Jack still hadn't said anything. Once the others had cleared, Kel put Nista's package down on the desk and left without another word.

What, was he supposed to talk to Jack now? Fuck that. This didn't change anything.

He stepped forward and snatched the files from the desk, turning swiftly on his heel to leave.

"J.J."

"Not now," he answered quickly.

" _J.J._ "

"I said no, Jack."

He had reached the door and was just about to grab the handle when Jack suddenly moved around his desk, stepping forward quickly.

"Don't!" he said sharply, holding his hand up to halt him. He felt his lips curling back over his teeth in a snarl. "I mean it, Jack. Just stay there."

God, he looked so tired. Jack stared at him with exhaustion on his face, the wrinkles showing around his eyes.

"You've gotta talk to me, J.J.," Jack whispered pleadingly. "With this going on, you have to at least talk to me."

He started to feel that sense of calm creeping over him again and he hated it. He pushed it away. He didn't want to look at the glimmer of tears in Jack's eyes and be calm right now. He wanted to be angry.

"I owe that to you, do I?" he growled. "And here I was thinking we were even now."

"Don't say stuff like that. You know that it was never like that. I just want to talk to you. I'm your—"

"Don't," J.J. interrupted him quickly. "Don't you dare." In a heartbeat, his vision blurred and his throat suddenly felt dry and swollen. He felt that warmth pressing at the side of his mind and he pushed it away again. Without it, a lot of other feelings rushed in to take its place and he let them. And he watched as Jack's heart broke right in front of him.

"You're my kid," Jack said in a shaky voice and the first tear spilled from his eye. "My boy."

It hurt. It hurt to see Jack looking at him like that. It hurt to feel so angry with him. Fucking everything hurt. And he wanted to hurt Jack more for making him feel like that.

"And why is that, Jack? Why _exactly_ am I your kid?"

"J.J., please . . ." Jack stepped towards him, hand outstretched, and J.J. quickly stepped back.

"Don't," he warned again.

Another step and J.J. felt his heart rate quicken. "Just listen to me."

"Don't do that. Stay there."

But that hand was still reaching for him and Jack took another step. "I just want to talk to you."

His back was against the wall now and an old panic was starting to set in. "Jack, if you touch me, I swear I'll kill you."

"I need you to understand."

" _Jack_ , _stop_."

"I love you, kid."

Jack's hand landed on his shoulder and his reaction was immediate. He yelled something—he didn't know what—and his teeth clamped down on Jack's hand. Hot blood filled his mouth and he felt flesh separate from bone when he ripped away. Jack's other hand touched his face—whether it was just to touch him or to pull him away, he didn't know—and he threw a fist out in panic. He punched Jack in the throat, hard, and felt the vital structures inside crushing beneath the blow.

Jack fought it for a few seconds, his hand squeezing J.J.'s shoulder tightly while he gasped for air that wouldn't come. His face went red, his eyes bulging slightly as his fingers dug in so deep that they would leave bruises. J.J. pushed back and flattened himself against the wall as best as he could while he watched Jack's grip slip and his legs gave out. Soon enough, he was on the floor, silent and still.

J.J.'s chest was heaving and everything rushed in on him at once. He couldn't believe what he just did. He stared down at the body and a pain he hadn't felt since he was a child struck him like a hammer. A strange and unfamiliar sound escaped his mouth and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe.

" _Fuck_!" he screamed, turning and kicking a bookshelf that stood against the wall as hard as he could. A book fell, and something breakable fell from the top shelf and shattered on the floor.

"J-Jack, I told you—why did you—Fucking hell, Jack. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

He kicked the shelf again. It didn't help but he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't stand to look at the body and he couldn't bear the thought of being there when Jack woke, but the panic was seizing him. He tried reaching for the door again and realized how badly his hands were shaking when he struggled to open it.

He ran. He ran before anyone had a chance to see him. He ran down the endless tunnels of Torchwood, to the empty sections that they hadn't yet found use for and looked for a door he could open. The room was huge and empty, aside from a couple of old boxes that had probably been brought in to prepare this room for whatever Jack had planned for it.

He slammed the door shut behind him and paced around in circles, gripping at the back of his own neck like he thought his head was going to fall off and clawing at his own skin. He kicked at the boxes, swearing under his breath over and over while he fought to hold back tears.

He dug a hand into his pocket and found his pack of cigarettes. His hands shook so badly that it took several tries to get one free and place it between his lips. But when he tried to ignite his lighter, he could get little more than a spark, and the more he thought about it the worse the shaking got.

He swore again and sent the lighter flying across the room. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth and threw that too. He wanted to just scream, feeling like he would burst if he didn't, but it was like he couldn't quite let go of anything yet. If he started letting go of what little control he had left, he felt like he'd never get it back.

The door behind him made a loud sound when it began to open and startled him so badly that he nearly fell. He stared with wide eyes, the world seeming to move in slow motion, as the door opened and Kevin appeared.

"Kevin." The voice that came out was not his own. It was small and shaky and terrified, choking back sobs. That wasn't his voice and yet it was coming from his mouth. "I didn't—I didn't mean to."

His eyes blurred too much to see anything more than Kevin's vague silhouette rush towards him. The weight of a body hit him and strong arms wrapped tightly around him and suddenly everything felt like it was rushing out of him. Ugly, horrible noises came out of his mouth. His face burned and his eyes flooded and overflowed over and over again. His body shook so violently that it made it difficult to keep his balance, and he had to be slowly let down to the floor. Suddenly he couldn't hold any of it back.

"It's okay, Jack," Kevin muttered quietly in his ear. "It's all gonna be okay. You're gonna be alright."

Kevin wasn't there when the Gurani hunters came. He never saw Ru'ahn turn red in the sunlight. He never tasted the marrow of his sister's bones or the flesh of his mother. He'd never looked up at a complete stranger and believed that they cared when the whole world was falling into chaos. He hadn't seen the red halls of Kahlia's ship, or heard that awful snarling, or felt his skull be stripped of flesh. He couldn't possibly understand.

But Kevin said he would be okay.

And Jack almost believed him.

It felt like they'd been there a long time before Jack had calmed down enough to really think. He was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled tight against him. His head was killing him. Kevin was sitting on the floor with him, and his shirt was soaked and smeared with blood from where Jack's face had been pressed against his chest.

When he finally felt brave enough to look at Kevin's face, he was surprised to see that it was wet and flushed.

"The fuck are you crying for, man?"

Kevin looked at him like he was completely stunned for a second, and then a grin suddenly broke across his face and he laughed. He laughed and sniffed and rubbed the sleeves of his jacket against his eyes to dry them. Jack felt himself smile a little. It felt nice to hear Kevin laugh.

He was still shaking pretty badly so Kevin helped him light a cigarette. He felt bad but, at least this time, Kevin didn't seem to mind too much. He shifted so that he and Kevin were sitting back to back, letting him blow the smoke away from him while still being able to lean on him. Kevin's hand found his own and tangled their fingers together.

"How'd you know?" Jack asked after a moment.

"Kel practically tore the door off of my office," Kevin answered quietly. "He saw you on the cameras."

"You think he'll tell anyone?"

"Probably not."

That didn't really make him feel better.

He took a long drag, thinking. His shaking had become less violent and was more like a tremble now, but it was still annoying. Somewhere in Torchwood, Jack would be waking up now. His throat would have repaired itself, the wound in his hand would have closed up, and he was probably cleaning up whatever it was that had smashed on the floor.

There was blood on his fingers and the end of his cigarette. He looked down at the floor where his other hand was entwined with Kevin's and saw a few drops of dried blood on that hand too. Kevin either didn't notice or didn't mind.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Jack said quietly.

"I know."

"What if it had been you?"

"It wasn't."

He wished he could see Kevin's face. He wished he knew what he was thinking. He wished that he didn't have to worry about Kevin hiding things from him for the sake of his feelings. Was Kevin afraid of him? Was he getting tired of him? The constant scratches and cigarettes and shaking episodes . . . at some point it just had to get frustrating, didn't it?

Why did he stay?

"How do you know that I'm really me?"

Kevin sighed and Jack wished again that he could see his face. "I know," was all he said.

There was no doubt in his voice. Jack had seen the looks of worry and doubt on everyone's faces in that office. Kel admitted that it was possible they were really all some other entity only pretending to be them and that they couldn't really know. They were taking a gamble by trusting them. But Kevin wasn't acting any differently.

"I know what it feels like when someone uses telepathy on you," Jack said slowly, flicking some ash on the floor. "You can't grow up as a complete nutcase around three Time Lords and not learn how it feels. I can feel it when Edmund tries to influence me. I just never paid attention to it before because it seemed good."

Kevin was quiet for a moment. God, he wished he could just have some idea of what he thinking.

"Did he make you attack the Captain?" he asked quietly.

"No." He tried to take another drag, but his hand shook badly again and he caught his finger on his tooth. "He tried to calm me down. I noticed it this time and I pushed it away."

"That's good," Kevin answered too quickly. "That proves you can resist him."

"Look what happened."

Kevin didn't say anything, but Jack could hear him breathing a little deeper.

"What if I need him to be normal?"

"You don't." Kevin's voice sounded stiff. "You're strong enough on your own. And you have me."

"You're not understanding," he answered sharply. "I just lost my fucking mind over nothing and killed someone. It could have been you, or Ganbri, or anyone. What if it's like blackmail? He takes me because he can't do anything to hold me back if you guys do anything to get rid of him. I either let him influence me or I risk hurting you."

"You wouldn't hurt me," Kevin said stubbornly, and his hand squeezed Jack's tighter than before. "Stop talking like that."

 _You have me_.

He hoped that was true. He didn't have anyone else anymore. Not really. Everyone else either didn't know him well enough, was a part of the problem, or had too much of their own shit to deal with. As far as he knew, no one had even clued in to the fact that he had only been talking to Jack as much as his job required and no more. They barely looked at each other and Jack had been sleeping in the office, and who noticed? Kevin was all he had left.

"Can I ask you something really selfish?"

Kevin hummed lightly in response.

"If I get worse—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Kevin answered firmly, squeezing his hand again. "Couldn't make me if you tried."

A weight came off of his chest and he took his first easy breath. He ground his cigarette out on the floor and sighed as he leaned his head back against Kevin's. Free of the cigarette, his other hand went in search of comfort and found Kevin's to be eager and accepting.

They stayed like that a while, back to back, hands in hands. Leaning back against Kevin felt like leaning against the stone that bound him to the Earth. The fingers in his own were anchors and the slow breathing against his back was the metronome for his own body to follow. He closed his eyes and felt every second of it until his heartbeat was calm and his trembling had gone away.

"Should we talk?"

It wasn't often that Kevin sounded uncertain, but he did now. Jack knew what he had to say. He thought he knew how he would respond. It should really be a short and easy conversation and he wanted to have it, and yet it was daunting. And he felt exhausted.

He just didn't feel like he could talk to anyone today. Not even Kevin. Talking was hard. It took energy. It made him look at things that he wasn't ready to look at. He thought of the look on Jack's face when his throat collapsed and he quickly shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"No," he answered quietly. "Later."

And he put those thoughts away.

"Okay."

There was silence for a moment, while Jack made sure he'd pieced himself back together properly. He felt like he could stand on his own again.

"You need to find a clean shirt."

He let go of Kevin's hands and leaned forward, shifting his weight to get up onto his feet. Kevin muttered something in agreement and gave a half smile. His face still looked flushed and his eyes were a little puffy. He'd do best to wash his face and get a little fresh air before rejoining the team, and Jack told him so.

It felt a little awkward walking back the way they'd come. Jack kept worrying that someone else on the team would come across them. The state of Kevin's face and shirt were bad enough, but Jack didn't even know what _he_ looked like.

There was an empty hazardous materials lab just around the corner—one of the ones that they hadn't found need for yet—and there would be a shower room attached to it. Kevin chose to go his own way, zipping up his jacket to hide his shirt and saying he needed a cup of coffee.

The shower helped. The hot water stung against the wound on his head but felt good at the same time. He washed the blood and sweat away and let the heat ease the tension in his muscles. He almost felt normal again.

No one looked at him oddly when he returned to the common areas. They were all working and too busy to pay him any mind. Anyone who did make eye contact either nodded or flashed a quick smile and immediately lost interest in him. And none of them were talking.

It seemed Kel hadn't told anyone after all.

He tapped a knuckle on Jack's office door before letting himself in. Jack had begun to say something about not wanting to be disturbed before he looked up from the papers in his hands.

"Sir?" His voice sounded small again, like it belonged to someone else.

Jack's eyes were wide, his mouth hanging slightly open for a moment. "Come in," he said eagerly. He stood up quickly, reaching over to push the guest's chair away from his desk, making room for him. "Come in. Come in, please."

He was just hurting, J.J. reminded himself. Jack was eager to talk and he was hurting. He never meant any harm and he never meant to frighten him, so there was no need to be nervous. But he felt nervous anyway.

J.J. took one timid step into the office. He closed the door behind him to make Jack happy, but stayed close enough to it that the hand behind his back could still reach the handle. Jack stopped moving, staying where he stood beside his desk and the empty chair. It looked like he had learned something.

"I . . ." It felt difficult to speak. His heart was speeding up again. "I want to apologize, sir," he said, trying to summon his courage and use his professional voice, to make himself sound stronger than he felt. "I'm sorry for my actions. I'm sorry for hurting you. It . . . it wasn't my intention."

"J.J., I—" Jack stepped towards him and J.J. flinched on instinct, shrinking back against the door and gripping the door handle tight. Jack froze again, a look of unbearable pain crossing his eyes, and J.J. felt another stab of guilt.

Edmund's calming presence began to creep forward in his mind, but he forced it back. He could do this on his own. He took a deep breath and told himself to be brave. He let go of the door handle and forced himself to bring his hands in front of him. He searched for his missing bracelet for a moment before settling on the scar on his palm again.

"Please, stop looking at me like that." His voice came out sounding stronger and more like himself that time.

The look of hurt didn't leave Jack's eyes, but he smiled a little. "I should have given you space," he said softly. "I knew I shouldn't have come closer but I just wanted to talk to you. I used to be better at this."

"Yeah," J.J. agreed quickly. "You're pretty shit at it now."

He could see the subtle shifts and tensions in Jack's body. He wanted to step forward, to reach out, but he was fighting the urge with everything he had. He glanced back at his own chair behind the desk, knowing that he should sit down, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He settled for sitting on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over to make him keep his hands still.

"Can we please talk?" Jack asked him in what was barely more than a whisper.

He wanted to. Just like he wanted to talk to Kevin. He wanted to get it out and deal with it and put it all behind him. He wanted to clear the air and move on. But it was a lot harder than he thought and he just wasn't ready. He just couldn't talk today.

He shook his head slowly and Jack tried his hardest to hide the awful disappointment on his face. The old man's eyes teared up and he bit down hard on his lip, forcing himself to nod.

"Okay." Jack hurriedly wiped one of his eyes with his thumb. "Can you do me a favour?" He tried to sound casual but his voice broke halfway through. He pressed on anyway. "Can you just . . . think about it? I'm not saying that you have to do or say anything but just think about it, okay? And when you—maybe if you feel like you're ready, you just let me know? I can do all the talking. You don't have to do anything. You could—you could even have Kevin there. You just tell me when and I'll say what I wanna say and then I'll go away and you can decide what to do from there." He took a big breath in and wiped his eye again, trying his best to smile. "Could you just think about that for me? Please?"

His eyes turned downward and he stared at the patch of floor where Jack died the last time he stood there.

"Yes, sir."

Jack smiled, for real this time. "Thank you."

He tore his eyes away from the spot in the floor, took a slow breath in, and straightened his back. "Sir, I believe I have new information relevant to infection present in the staff."

Jack went along with the shift and got off of his desk, moving to get behind it again. "Good. Message the details to Presley. I've made him the lead agent on the case."

"Yes, sir."

"And go home."

He stopped, blinking. "Sir?"

Jack stood tall behind his desk, putting on his Captain's face and sounding firm. "You've not yet been fully reinstated as a Torchwood agent, your position is considered compromised due to the unknown infection, and you attacked your commanding officer in an emotional outburst. You are not fit for the line of duty. At least not today. Go home."

He nodded stiffly, feeling embarrassed. "Yes, sir."

"If you like, I can dismiss Edwards for the day as well."

"No, sir," he answered quickly. "Thank you, sir."

"Have it your way," Jack answered. He pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat down, opening a file folder that had been sitting there. "Dismissed."

He decided not to tell Kevin that he was being sent home until he was already gone, or else he knew that Kevin would insist on going with him. He emailed Kel the details of his experience with Edmund's influence and how he had been able to resist it, even though the consequences were less than pleasant. Then he emailed Kevin to tell him that Jack sent him home. He was immediately scolded for not saying something sooner and offers were made to come home.

He said he'd be fine on his own. He'd been in an empty house before. He could handle it for a little while.

He worked out for as long as his aching head would let him. He watered Greg and Lyle. He did laundry. He put his shimmer on and stepped outside to weed the lawn and get some sun on his face. Some of the neighbours said hi and he said hello back, praying that they didn't stop to chitchat about the weather or ask about what had happened to his face.

Edith Thatcher came out of her house just to see him and he didn't have the heart to brush her off. She'd watched him grow up and she always reminded him that she thought he was a good boy, even though she also always reminded him that she thought he was strange.

She asked him how school was and he reminded her that he was twenty-five and hadn't been in school for years.

She asked him what happened to Rachel and he reminded her that they broke up six months ago. They only dated for two months; he had no idea how she even remembered her.

She asked him if he was hungry. He said no, but she went inside and brought him a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk anyway. He didn't care for peanut butter much, but he ate it to make her happy.

"I always told your father lots of milk would make you strong. And . . . well, you _are_ a strapping young thing," she said happily, reaching over and squeezing his bicep with a wink. "But I think you might have been _taller_ if he'd listened to me. It's rather odd, isn't it? Is your mother's side very short?"

"Yeah," he muttered back. "Lots of short people."

Eventually, the shimmer was becoming too uncomfortable and he excused himself. She seemed disappointed to see him go.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to turn his shimmer off and stretch, but the relief ended when he looked at the clock. It was barely one in the afternoon. He looked around the house, already clean and cared for. It was too early to start on dinner and, even if it wasn't, he didn't want to cook alone. His head hurt too much to allow him to focus on anything like studying. What the hell was he supposed to do with himself now?

He'd never cared for the thought of a TV in the bedroom but one had been moved in anyway. He figured he may as well use it, so he flopped down on his bed and turned it on. It was left on that channel that Kevin liked that showed nothing but investigation and true crime stories all the time. Jack didn't care for it but they often watched it when they went to bed. He left it on.

He left his phone beside him on the nightstand with the volume on so that he'd know if he got a message. He laid on his side and piled a few pillows behind him to rest against his back, then he grabbed another one to cling to.

He wasn't allowed to be a Torchwood agent today, so what was he? He supposed that made him the guy who did laundry and pulled the weeds and talked to the elderly neighbours. He supposed that made him the guy who laid in bed watching true crime drama bullshit and waited for his phone to ring.

After an hour, it finally went off. Kevin had messaged him.

' _So what are you doing?'_

' _Watching your garbage TV. Someone killed a teacher.'_ He typed quickly and sent. He waited, watching the little screen for an answer. It took too long.

' _You've been watching telly all day?'_

' _No. I was force fed peanut butter by the old lady next door.'_

A little image of a laughing face popped up and he imagined the way Kevin would be poking at him and making jokes if he were there in person. He'd tease him until Jack felt the heat rising in his face and made some sort of threat. Then Kevin would just smile and say that he thought it was nice he was learning to play domestic and be nice to the neighbours, probably say some bullshit about it being healthy, and he'd come up with some project for them to do.

Instead, Jack was lying in bed, staring at his phone's screen as a little cartoon face laughed at him repeatedly.

' _When are you coming home?'_

Kevin answered quickly this time. _'Soon.'_

It was only two. Kevin never left earlier than four on a normal day. He wanted to message him back and say not to worry about it, to take his time and that he was only asking because he was bored. Instead he put the phone back down on the nightstand, turned his eyes back to the garbage on TV, and pushed his thumb into the scar on his palm.

He waited.


	9. Chapter 9: Doug

"Do you remember the day that we tracked that aladdene meteorite when it landed in London?"

Celeste was typing furiously. She hadn't spoken for an hour. Her hair had finally grown long enough for her to tie it up in a bun but she didn't really know how to do it properly yet and it was starting slip out, one tendril at a time. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose and, eventually, she stopped bothering to push them back up. She just leaned closer to her screen. Her coffee had long since gone cold.

"Celeste."

She shot him an irritated look. "You're supposed to be working."

"Do you remember?" he insisted.

"Yes," she sighed. "They gave you a gun, like you had any fucking clue what you were doing."

Celeste had been furious when they told Doug they were sending him out on the field to track down any infected bodies. Aladdene eggs hatched quickly, and the monsters inside grew at an alarming rate. They were extremely dangerous and the team had wanted the tank they worked so hard to build.

He remembered being scared half to death. He'd trained with a gun but didn't feel confident with it. He'd trained in the ring but didn't feel that he knew how to fight. Celeste had a proper screaming match with the Captain over it, but Doug stepped in and said he was going to go, no matter what his sister said.

"The morgue was fucking crawling with them," he said quietly, leaning back in his chair to remember. "More than we thought there would be. One of the staff was already dead when we—"

"I know what happened. I read the report."

He smiled at her, noticing the signs of weakness in the corners of her eyes. "I found the rest of them hiding in the janitor's closet. I didn't know where the boys were."

He was all by himself and terrified. The gun felt too shaky in his hand so he put it away. He heard the staff yelling at each other through the door and saw one of the massive creatures stalking around the hallway outside of it. He had grabbed a bottle of water and threw it down the hall to lure the creature away. It would have worked if it hadn't happened to have looked back as he was nearing the door.

"I got a face full of fucking goo," he used his hands to gesture the thick venom splattering all over him. "I thought I was fucking dead already."

Celeste was pursing her lips, brows locked tight together. She didn't like this story. She was so angry when he left on that mission and even more angry when she found out what had happened while they were gone.

"But I found the staff," Doug continued, watching her carefully. "I wasn't able to get the coroner out alive and that fucking sucked. Took a few hits, Nista got bit _and_ stabbed, Ganbri got his thigh sliced up. But we got the other two out alive."

He watched the way her face changed. She was trying to stay irritated. She was trying not to think about what he was saying.

"I check up on ol' George sometimes, you know? He's got five grandkids now."

"That's nice, Douglas," she answered halfheartedly. She was hoping he'd stop there if she agreed. Because she'd had this conversation before.

"Damn right, it's nice," he answered quickly, grinning. "And imagine if we didn't have Kevin around? Imagine trying to deal with all of Nista's shit if he had died in the morgue?"

She stayed quiet. He could see her chewing on her bottom lip. He got out of his seat slowly, not wanting to startle her, and moved around to the back of her chair. He let her hide her face from him as he stood behind her, gently sweeping up the stray strands of hair so that he could retie it for her.

"You and I are the ones who tracked the meteor," he continued quietly. "That alone saved countless people. Then I went out, so fucking scared I could barely breathe, and I helped save two more."

Celeste nodded her head a little, not seeming to care that it meant he tugged on her hair. "You did really good."

"We changed the fucking world that day," he answered, trying to sound enthusiastic. "For us, that was just the stressful day at work when some fucking snake monster thing came on my face. But how many people's lives are better because we did that? If something had happened to me then, knowing that I saved two people would have made it worth it." He paused for a moment, finishing the tie around her hair. He placed his hands on either one of her shoulders and squeezed gently. "And if something happens to me because of this thing with the Bad Wolf, or because of Edmund, I still helped save a _shit load_ of people. I couldn't have done that without exposing myself to the risks, so I'd rather know that I helped than know that I get to live. I'm happy with that."

She reached her hand up to his and gave it a squeeze, just holding it for a moment. Finally, she let go, pushed her glasses back up her nose, and went back to typing.

"Get back to work, you fucking slacker."

He smiled and bent down to kiss his sister on the top of her head. It wouldn't put her worry at ease but he hoped that it might at least help her feel a little better about it. It had always helped when it came to their father.

He dumped out her disgusting coffee, made them both fresh cups, and went back to work.

Hours went by. He tracked rift activity, searched through the galactic chatter for signs, and got in touch with whatever Earth contacts they had. He had a program running in the background poking tiny holes in Torchwood's firewall, setting up honeypots. To anyone on the outside looking to get in, it would look like weakness that they could break through, hopefully without knowing that they were being waited for.

Any time there was activity, the program quickly led the hacker through a bunch of hoops and dead ends to keep them busy while they were tracked. None of them seemed clever enough to be James. A few were even stupid enough to not even have their webcams covered. They were just bored kids, trying to prove something.

If James was on Earth, it didn't look like he was waving a flag for Torchwood to find him.

It was past noon, and Doug decided to stretch his legs and think. He wandered down to Edmund's cell, finding Kel standing before the glass wall and observing the creature inside. When the doctor bent his head down to look at the clipboard in his hands, Doug could see the dark lump on the back of his neck.

"You ever realize what you two have in common?" he asked as he approached.

Kel glanced over at him. That smile of his tugged at the sides of his mouth but it looked like he was trying not to. He hugged his clipboard to his chest, making a sideways glance at Edmund before looking back.

"What's that?"

Doug raised a hand, gesturing to the back of his own neck. "You're both going around in bodies not made for you just so that you can communicate." He crossed his arms and grinned. "You know, I don't even know your name."

Kel raised an eyebrow at him. "My name is Kelevra," he said simply.

"Well, yeah, but only like how Edmund's name is Edmund."

Kel smirked, appearing amused. He looked Doug up and down, tapping his fingers to his clipboard. "Are you listening?" he whispered, leaning in.

Doug grinned wider and nodded, leaning in close. Kel took one slow breath in, deep, filling his lungs from the bottom, a slow, shallow exhale, and a quick breath in, almost like a gasp. Doug tried his best to mimic it, knowing that he didn't get it quite right, but Kel seemed pleased.

"Is that actually your name or did you just get me to say I murder kids or some shit?"

Kel smirked again. "Repeat it around another Zumecki and you'll find out."

He turned his eyes to Edmund's cell, shifting so that he stood side by side with Kel. He had thought that might make Kelevra uneasy, given what they had learned that day, but he seemed surprisingly comfortable—calm.

"What's your name, Edmund?" he asked.

Edmund looked up at him, his glowing eyes wide and looking hopeful. "I am Edmund," he answered in that soft voice of his. He lifted his hand slowly and put it against the glass, letting it rest there gently. "Know you," he chirped. "Know me."

They watched Edmund together for a moment in silence. Kel eventually pulled the clipboard away from his chest and looked down at it, making little notes and markings here and there. Doug watched quietly for a minute and, when enough time had passed, he repeated the breathing pattern Kel had shown him. When the Zumecki doctor's eyes immediately turned to him with a look of expectation and he made the soft sound of a questioning hum, Doug grinned.

"No shit, huh?"

Kel blinked, his smile tugging at his lips again. "Why would you expect me to lie about my name?"

"You're a tricky bastard," Doug answered with a shrug. "You also asked why we would be suspicious when you started handing out those ferns."

Kel's face immediately gave way to an impish grin and Doug couldn't help but laugh. He felt like he'd been let in on something special—he doubted that many people got to see Kel's usual poker face completely shattered.

"Go on," he coaxed. "You know you want to."

Kel's grin stayed in place, though his eyes glanced about as though he were thinking first. "There's a kind of flying reptile from the Vantios system that share a hive mind with their genetic relatives. They share thoughts and feelings, even across incredible distances. They're bred and sold to farmers across the galaxies for coordinated pollination, like bees."

Doug could hear the thinly veiled pride in Kelevra's voice as he explained. "So you spliced them with the ferns."

"And with you. Obviously."

"So Toby is technically related to me?"

"Toby feels what you feel and sends it back to the mother plant in headquarters," Kel answered with a slow nod. "The difficult part was to find genetic markers that you don't share with your sister, to prevent cross contamination in the signal. Your plants are related to you, but not to each other."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal as shit."

Kel's grin spread just a fraction wider, his chin raising ever so slightly. "It might be."

"You gonna get in a lot of trouble for that?"

"Potentially."

"And you just really don't give a fuck, do you?"

Kel turned to look him in the eye, his gaze suddenly intense. "The information I gained may be a key part in saving every universe there is," he said, in a quiet but unwavering voice. "I'd rather be arrested than nonexistent. If it came down to it, I'd choose to die than to never have lived."

Doug couldn't argue with that, so he nodded in agreement until Kel turned his piercing eyes back to Edmund.

"So when you're watching all our brains at home, what's that like?"

Kel shrugged his shoulders. "I know when you're having a bad day. I know when you're having a good day."

"What am I like?"

"You have a lot of good days." Kel smiled that eerie little smile of his again. "But you don't seem to behave any differently when you're unhappy. It's a unique talent."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Doug answered quickly with a smirk. "Right fuckin' drama queen right here."

Kel gave him a knowing look, but turned his eyes back to Edmund again without another word. Edmund had become bored with them and turned his attention back to the toys on the floor, carefully sorting them into different piles.

"Can you tell when we're, you know—" He made a quick gesture with his hand. "Wrangling the slippery eel?"

Kel raised his eyebrows high, not turning his eyes away from his clipboard. "Yes," he answered slowly. "The signs of that are fairly obvious."

"Kinda turn you on a bit?"

Kel's eyebrows shot a little higher.

"I'm fucking kidding, mate," he laughed.

Kel smirked and even chuckled a little. "You'd best be careful about flirting with me, pet. I know where you live."

Doug nudged him with his elbow and gave him an exaggerated wink. "I'll leave the window unlocked."

Doug stayed for a while, and he and Kel watched Edmund absentmindedly. They chatted a little about the situation they found themselves in. Doug mentioned that he never blacked out when Edmund touched him—he only remembered feeling like he couldn't move, an odd tingling sensation, and then calm. Kel scratched some notes on his clipboard and asked some more questions but Doug didn't have much else to tell him. His experience was rather uneventful in truth.

Eventually, he wandered back to his desk. He stared hard at his computer screen for a minute, absorbing information and thinking. He felt like he was hitting a brick wall, his thoughts going nowhere fast. He checked the time and knew that the teleports would be activated soon for those who could leave early. He'd been there since 6:30 and, apparently, he was compromised anyway, so he figured Jack wouldn't mind.

When he got to the teleport, Kevin was waiting for it too. He was shifting his weight around a lot, playing with something small in his hands, and Doug noticed he was wearing a different shirt.

"Heading home so early?" he asked casually.

Kevin smiled and nodded. "Jack took the news today hard and he's home alone. I'm worried about him."

"I noticed he left pretty quick," he said with a nod. "He's a funny guy. The weirdest things get to him."

"I don't think it's really weird, is it?" Kevin answered quietly. "I mean, you're infected too. You don't find that stressful at all?"

Doug shrugged his shoulders, his mind going back to the worry in Celeste's eyes. "A little. If shit happens, there's a lot worse ways to go. I always kinda thought it'd be good to die saving other people, like my dad did."

Kevin looked startled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Doug answered quickly. "Man was a fucking hero."

Kevin shifted a little uncomfortably. Dead parents were usually a source of discomfort for most people but it was a source of pride for Doug.

"I wanted to join Torchwood because of my dad," he offered as explanation. "He was MI5 but I wanted Torchwood because I wanted to protect the whole world. Just wanted to make him proud, you know?"

Kevin smiled at him. "I'm sure he'd be very proud."

"Fuck yeah, he is." Doug grinned widely.

Kevin fell quiet after that, continuously fidgeting with whatever he had in his hand, and Doug got the feeling that he didn't want to start a new conversation. He waited quietly until the teleport hummed to life before giving Kevin a sturdy slap on his back and telling him to have a good evening. Kevin thanked him and wished him the same before departing.

Doug felt tired as soon as he stepped into the teleport and the doors closed. He wondered for a moment if that was him losing Edmund's influence or if it was just his body knowing that he would be able to take a nap in a minute.

The teleport hummed, the doors opened, and he was looking into his own home again. He stepped out of what appeared to be a regular linen closet and shut the door behind him—once the teleport deactivated, it would only be a linen closet again.

He glanced around and noticed that things looked a little different. The carpet had been recently vacuumed and it looked like the hand rail for the staircase had been washed. He grinned knowingly, and followed the scent of cleaning products.

Jenny was on his couch, wearing one of his shirts and reading a book. The shirt was big enough that she had pulled her knees up and the shirt was engulfing her whole body, legs and all, with just her toes poking out. As he came down the staircase, she seemed too far away in thought to notice.

"You breaking into my house now?"

Jenny jumped, apparently startled, and then a sheepish smile slowly stretched across her face. "I thought it would be okay if I cleaned up a bit."

"Fuck yeah. Break in any time you want," he answered, grinning as his eyes scanned the room. "Looks great in here."

"Thanks." She smiled but offered nothing else.

"You wanna go for a pint then?"

They'd gone out for a pint almost every day for more than a week, since Jenny had escorted the boys to Torchwood on their first day back. Doug had offered to be there for her. She had taken him up on it. They drank, they flirted, and he'd see her safely home. It was nice.

"Could we . . . Do you actually mind if we just stay here?"

Doug grinned, feeling a little awkward. "Do I have a choice?"

Jenny pouted at him, but her eyes shone in a way that gave her away. "I don't think you do."

"Pizza and beer sound good?"

She smiled happily. "Sounds perfect."

"I'll make the necessary arrangements."

He called for a pizza while Jenny acquainted herself with his sound system. His shirt was so massive on her that it easily passed the length of the shorts she was wearing, making it look like she was naked underneath from most angles. He wondered if she'd done that on purpose. Either way, it was hard not to look at her as she padded around in his living room, moving her hips just enough to qualify as dancing.

He tried not to think too much about it or read too much into it. He'd told her that he was someone she could consider safe to talk to. He'd promised to be there to listen and to offer support. She might have been running around in his shirt because she felt comfortable, and not because it looked insanely hot. If Celeste were there, she'd hit him in the arm, call him a fucking perv, and remind him that a woman simply being attractive is not her flirting in any way.

So he might have liked the way she looked in his shirt, and he might have liked the way she danced alone in his living room, and he might have stolen a peek or two at her legs, but he tried to not be creepy about it. Jenny had been having a hard time lately and today looked like it might finally be a good day for her. She deserved a good day. He didn't want to ruin it.

"For the lady," he said cheerfully, reentering the living room with a pint in each hand.

"Thank you, kind sir," she answered, mimicking his tone as she took the glass.

He excused himself for a moment and left her to start on her beer. His desktop sat in the far corner of the room and he pressed the power button. When he glanced over his shoulder and saw her staring at him, he shrugged his shoulders.

"I left work early," he offered quietly. "If I at least have this thing running, I can say I kept working at home."

She smiled a little, stepping closer. "Anything juicy going on?"

"Technically, it's all classified."

"Right, and technically, I'm an illegal immigrant, but I share my secrets with you, don't I?"

He looked back over his shoulder at her and cracked a grin. "I _know_ they gave you a citizenship, you fucking liar."

The pout was back. "It was worth a try."

She didn't know how close this stuff was to her family. He couldn't tell her what was going on. He gave a few hearty chuckles, shrugging his shoulders and making up bullshit just to make her laugh and forget about Torchwood. He left his program running, constantly searching for James, and returned to her.

They argued about what to watch. They'd been slowly going through the TV shows and movies that had been the most popular throughout time, trying to catch her up with the world she lived in now. Jenny wanted to watch The Godfather movies. Doug wanted to watch the Lethal Weapon movies. Somehow they settled on watching the original Star Trek television series.

The pizza arrived just as they were putting the show on. Doug poured them each a new pint, grabbed some napkins, and pulled an old blanket from the linen cupboard. Girls always seemed to want extra blankets when settling in to watch telly.

She snuggled in close to him for the show. She lifted his arm up, grunting and making a big show of it as though it were incredibly heavy, before placing it on the other side of her so that she could move in close. They finished their drinks and neither bothered to get up for more. What was left of the pizza got cold. The show ran for hours and they did nothing but sit together.

Eventually, she did start to talk a little—chitchat about less important things. She asked how Ganbri had been doing at work and he told as much of the truth as he could. Jenny seemed stressed to hear that her little brother was struggling, but Doug promised to keep an eye out for him and that seemed to make her feel better.

Another hour of Star Trek passed and Jenny seemed to be properly getting into the show. She argued a bit about some of the things the characters said making no sense but, for the most part, she accepted that the show was made when sci-fi shows were filmed in some guy's garage.

The sun was going down outside. He'd spent the whole day sitting on the couch and yet felt entirely content. At one point, Jenny turned to look at him quite deliberately. He looked back at her, waiting to see what she had to say, and saw that her cheeks were flushing pink.

"Can I—can I try something?" she asked quietly.

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. Whatever you want."

She smiled a little, though she looked uncertain. He didn't know why until she put a hand on his face. It was right about that exact moment that his heart and stomach tried to simultaneously leap into his throat.

Jenny moved forward slowly, hesitating briefly before kissing him. She did it soft and slowly, with a sense of nervousness. He responded with what he hoped was the correct amount of enthusiasm, though he was careful not to put his hands on her—he wasn't entirely sure what she wanted from him yet.

After a few moments she pulled away, her eyes glancing up at him nervously.

"Cool," was all he could think to say. He thought that was the stupidest thing he could have done when, to his own horror, he saw himself holding his hand up for a high-five. Jenny looked at him with a slightly confused expression but his stupid, idiotic, _completely_ dysfunctional brain told him to just leave his hand up there. Eventually, she gave him the high-five, smiling at him in a way that he couldn't quite interpret as good or not, and settled down in her seat again.

Fucking moron.

He felt like his heart must have been thundering so loud in his chest that he would be drowning out the show for her. He didn't know how to make himself possibly look any more stupid. He wanted to smack himself in the face or go crack open another beer but, instead, his mouth opened again.

"Can I try something too?"

Jenny glanced up at him and then quickly back at the screen, but she didn't move away from his side. "Yeah."

He wrapped his arm around her a little tighter and sought out her hand, entwining their fingers and letting them rest on her thigh. Her hand felt absolutely tiny in his, but size didn't seem to make any difference and he felt just as nervous.

He saw her smile from the corner of her mouth. "Cool," she said happily.

That relaxed him a little. They carried on watching the show as dark gathered outside, huddled under the blanket together and holding hands. He caught her smiling for no reason. He caught himself smiling for no reason. He supposed it was something he could get used to.

Another episode later, she turned around again. She looked less nervous this time and, though she looked like she was going to say something, she didn't. She stretched upward and kissed him again with more confidence than before. He didn't hesitate to respond and he didn't resist when she was grabbing his wrists and gently guiding them to her body. That was a permission he would gladly accept.

He wrapped his arms around her tight and pulled her close, happily showing his enthusiasm for the new activity she wanted them to share. Her hands were in his hair, fingernails gently raking over his scalp, and she shifted herself so that she was straddling one of his thighs. He could feel the warmth between her legs through his jeans and he immediately felt a rush of heat, parts of him beginning to wake up from a far too long slumber.

She was opening her mouth now and he followed her lead, turning the kisses from soft to more passionate. He let his hands wander over her, daring to let one slip up the back of her shirt. His shirt. He felt her lips start to smile against his mouth and he realized that she thought he was funny for not making bigger moves.

The stupid part of his brain took over again and, before he had any time to tell it _for fuck's sake_ _ **no**_ , he slapped her on the ass.

Jenny froze for a second and pulled away, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I am so fucking sorry," he blurted quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "I was just—I, uh—I thought it'd be funny. I'm a fucking idiot. I can't help it."

She smiled and he felt relief wash over him. "When's the last time you made out with a girl?"

He grinned nervously and shrugged his shoulders. "Computer shit and Star Trek marathons aren't really the sort of things that get you laid on a regular basis."

"Then let me help you." She guided his hands back to her body, placing one on her back and one right on the curve of her hips. Then she was kissing him again. While Spock delivered his theories on the nature of the new life form they had encountered, Jenny was shifting her body again, getting a leg on either side of his waist and bringing them closer together.

Her hands wandered from his hair, down his neck, and to his chest. He actually felt confident for once when her hands pressed against his chest and he knew that everything she felt was solid. He'd have to thank Nista for that.

She pecked kisses from the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, and down to his neck. He felt her sucking and nipping at the flesh there while her hands explored his chest in greater detail and her hips slowly ground against him. He let his head fall back against the couch, hands still firmly placed where Jenny had put them, feeling every movement that her hips made against him.

He suspected that, at this point, there was no way that he could pretend he didn't have a hard-on but, if Jenny noticed, it seemed to only spur her on. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He took it to mean that she wanted him to kiss her neck back and, when he did, she rewarded him with the softest of moans.

His excitement leapt up again and he gripped her a little tighter. He started shifting his own hips, creating a little friction that felt surprisingly good. He caught small noises escaping his throat and one his hands shot up to the back of her head, eagerly steering her downward so that he could kiss her on the mouth again.

Despite how nervous he felt, everything about what they were doing felt right. He felt like he'd been doing this with her forever and somehow he'd just forgotten until now. It felt so comfortable and good that it was hard to stop.

He didn't know how long he'd been kissing her by the time they parted, but a different episode of Star Trek was playing, they were both breathing hard, and his jeans had grown uncomfortably tight. She didn't ask him why he stopped, she just smiled and leaned her forehead against his.

"You okay?"

"Fuck yeah." His voice came out sounding more excited and breathy than he expected but he decided that probably was a good thing. He might sound like a dork but Jenny seemed to think that was cute. It was working for him so far.

She pecked a kiss on his nose and climbed off of him, stopping to readjust her shorts and get everything back in place. Doug tried to adjust his jeans but it was helpless. He was either going to have to take them off or else give himself some time to calm down. Jenny didn't seem to mind.

She played with the TV remote, trying to rewind the show to the point that she was last paying attention. All the while she was nudging him and gesturing to get him to lay down on the couch. He wound up laying on his back, and Jenny climbed on top of him. She nestled between his legs and let her head rest on his chest. She'd thrown the blanket over them both and happily went back to watching Star Trek with no further fuss.

It was less than twenty minutes before Doug's cell phone buzzed and he snatched it from the coffee table. It was a message from Kelevra.

' _I hope you were at least thinking of me.'_

Doug scoffed and quickly typed back, _'Fuck off.'_

He tossed his phone back at the table with a chuckle and relaxed his body back into the couch. He wrapped his arms loosely around Jenny and watched the way she smiled. He liked to see her smile. He was so glad that he could make her smile.

"I could get used to this," he said quietly. "I might even like it more than going to the pub with you."

"I think I like this better too."

Another episode passed and it had been hours since their last meal. Jenny made some dramatic comments about dying and climbed off of him to raid the kitchen.

"Do you want pasta?" she called out a moment later.

"Sure," he quickly agreed. "I'll have whatever you're up for. I'm just gonna check out some work stuff, okay?"

He moved over to his desk in corner, quickly checking to see if his program had made any progress. There were plenty of small fish—amateur hackers that were probably just sixteen-year-olds with too much time and delusions of grandeur—but, here and there, a couple of bigger fish. One or two had actually given the system a little bit of a fight and he quickly checked them out.

One was stupid enough to leave a tag before withdrawing, no doubt assuming they had done so in such a clever way that their calling card could never be tracked. It only took a couple of minutes for Doug to work out that it was some nineteen-year-old girl in Jamaica. Another was a twenty-three-year-old man from America, who openly admitted that he was hoping to get an interview for a job. The third was what interested him the most though. They seemed to work out quickly that the firewall cracks were a trap and withdrew fairly quickly. When Doug tried to track them, all he could find was an IP Address linked to a big chain pharmacy—hardly useful information.

His eyes glanced over the rest of the reports from his honeypot program, quickly dismissing hacker after failed hacker, but his mind wandered elsewhere. He was remembering the infection that could supposedly turn him feral or drop him dead at any moment. He was thinking about how that just didn't sit right with him.

He was remembering how relaxed Kel was, the usual traces of suspicion in his eyes gone. He thought of Edmund so carefully putting his hand up to the glass. He thought of what it felt like when that thin, bony finger touched his forehead and it seemed like his entire being shifted somewhere else. He felt like he _knew_ something and he just couldn't put his finger on it.

He leaned back in his seat and snatched up the folder Kel had given him earlier in the day. He scanned through the many pages of graphs, drinking information. He flipped through page after page, looking at the spikes of stress that suddenly dropped to nothing. He remembered picking up Nista to hug him on his first day back at Torchwood, feeling him trembling . . . feeling him stop. He remembered being afraid when Edmund crept toward him, crawling along the floor with his long limbs like a spider, a look of concern in those massive eyes.

Page after page after page, and they all began to look the same. Spikes of stress and fear and worry, all settling down to a calm and steady flow of activity.

He remembered Ganbri on his knees with his nose bleeding and Edmund reaching out to him. He remembered Edmund holding Nista's cat as if it were the most precious thing in the world, stroking it gently.

Over and over and over again. The same pattern, repeating and repeating again, keeping them all in the same rhythm, attached to the same frequency.

He thought of Kel in his borrowed body, trying his best to fit in with the world around him. He thought of Kel's careful, slow breathing, sharing the whispered words of a language that Doug would never understand. Even if he could never speak Kel's language, at the very least, he could learn his name. _Shouldn't_ he at least learn his name?

" _I am Edmund."_

He remembered Edmund resting his hand against the glass, smiling warmly.

" _Know you."_

He thought of Edmund standing up before him, towering over him, reaching out that one finger to place on his forehead.

" _Know me."_

And he felt calm.

And the pages continued, showing him the same thing relentlessly, never wavering. Even people that they didn't think were infected showed it every once in a while.

And he felt _calm_.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

He stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over behind him.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ!"

"What!?" Jenny's head popped around the corner of the kitchen doorway, looking worried. "What is it?"

"It's always the same levels, no matter who it is." He flipped the pages around in his hands so that she could see, shaking them with enthusiasm. "The _exact same_ levels!"

"What are you talking about?" she said, eyebrows locked together in confusion. She was squinting at the pages, but no look of clarity crossed her eyes. Of course, she would have no idea what any of it meant, but that didn't stop him from being excited.

"It's a signature!" Doug proclaimed loudly, flipping through the pages again. Page after page after page—the same levels on all of them. No matter which team member the chart belonged to, no matter how stressed or how happy they were, the activity always changed to the _exact_ same levels. It shouldn't have been possible and yet there it was, right in front of him.

"Fuck me, I'm brilliant," Doug shouted, leaping over the fallen chair to run across the room and snatch up his phone. "It's his fucking _name_!"


	10. Chapter 10: Harry

Things happened quickly.

Once upon a time, Harry felt that he was in control of every situation he ever walked into. A calculated look, a well-constructed phrase, a little telepathic manipulation—the world was clay in his hands and every person was a tool to shape it. There was a reason he had been called the Master.

Now he was Harry. His son was impossible to control, his stepdaughter was barely speaking to him, his husband was keeping secrets, and beings as powerful as gods were using them like pawns on a board. He'd let go of a lot of things in his life and made compromises. It was the price of having a domestic life, married with children, working a 9-5 with weekends off, keeping house and mowing the lawn. It had been worth it for nearly three decades. But now the universe might come to an end and his will might not be his own and somehow he had been the last one to know.

This was not the life he had paid for.

Ganbri had wandered off on his own the second the meeting was over, but the Doctor was hurrying beside him, trying to keep up the pace. He was talking quickly, some nonsense about everything being okay and him being sorry. It didn't matter. They were all only words. The Doctor didn't know how to face this, no more than he knew how to face Kahlia. He would either kill himself with worry or unleash Hell in the form of a fanged and clawed Beast and kill everyone else instead.

Some very old scars on his back burned and ached to life with the memory, and Harry felt his hearts harden.

"Listen," he interrupted the Doctor's incessant talk. "You can keep on lying to me to try to make me feel better or you can make yourself useful."

The Doctor's eyes instantly took on that look they got when his feelings were hurt. "Harry—"

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupted again, ignoring the pained look. "We are not at home and this is not the time to get emotional. I don't want this thing to kill me, so stop wasting time and go get the job done. I'm gonna get Edmund out of my head. _You_ need to figure out how to find the Bad Wolf and then tell me how to kill the bitch."

He walked away before the Doctor could say anything else. Yes, he'd be upset and he'd probably have that stressed out, worn look he got sometimes by the end of the day, but this was not the time. This madness had only been going on for a day and he was already done with it. He was done with the War and the Beast and Edmund and this Bad Wolf shit was just the cherry on top of a cake he didn't order. And he was _done_.

"You can't, Harry. I can't allow you."

How long had Kel been pestering him? The Zumecki doctor was practically running to keep up with him, frantically trying to talk him out of whatever he thought he was going to do. He was clutching his clipboard to his chest with one arm and holding some kind of tablet in the other, checking the screen every three seconds as he spoke.

"I don't remember asking for permission."

"Oh yes, very impressive," Kel answered sarcastically. "You're so intimidating, Harry. But I still can't let you do it."

"I have never met a telepath more powerful than me since I was a kid. If anyone can do this, _I_ can."

"But you can't do that sort of thing without the security clearance. You're not authorized, Harry."

Zumecki were notoriously difficult to hypnotize, but he was beginning to wonder if he could do it when Kel suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring down at the tablet in his hand, eyes wide and his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Shit," he breathed.

That caught Harry's attention. Not much threw Kel off. He paused to see what would happen and Kel looked up at him again, eyes still wide.

"Harold Mott, you stay away from that hallway!" Kel suddenly shouted at him. But the threat in his voice meant nothing when his face looked worried and his feet were quickly carrying him elsewhere. Whatever he saw on his tablet was something that couldn't be ignored for the moment.

Harry watched with smug satisfaction as Kel hurried off, shouting a few more warnings as he went.

Harry didn't care.

So many things bubbled to the surface as he stormed down that hallway. His back was alive with fire, the vicious claw marks seeming to sear with pain as they did the day they were inflicted. He could almost feel the blood dripping on the backs of his legs. He could see the stumps on the Doctor's hand where his fingers had been cut off. He could smell the burning flesh from the wound in Ganbri's chest as Harry tried to drag him to safety. He could feel Kahlia's last, jerking movements when she finally died. He could hear a vicious snarling and a very old, familiar drum beat.

No more.

Edmund was waiting for him in the hallway, his skin still glowing and translucent from when he walked through his cell wall.

"Harry."

He didn't speak. He didn't wait. He marched right up to Edmund, feeling the tiniest flash of triumph when he watched the creature shrink back a little. He reached his hand out, moving quickly in an attempt to take away any chance for Edmund to react, and placed a single finger on the Ghost's forehead.

Every nerve on his body was set on fire and the impact on his mind was severe enough that he knew immediately that damage had been done. He felt a hundred emotions that weren't his own, rushing in on him. He felt the joy of a million memories that he never experienced, mourned the loss of people he never knew, and writhed in the pain of injuries he never sustained. A universe rushed past his eyes, and then another, and another. He felt eternity in an instant, feeling time in a way that even a Time Lord was not used to. The entire galaxy looked like nothing more than a petri dish—one of countless billions.

He suddenly felt Edmund's frustration—staring down through a microscope at creature's too small to even comprehend his existence and then trying to communicate with them. Trying to understand their primitive languages and navigate their nonsensical world with no eyes or voices or hands—nothing but cilia and light sensors.

He felt the world around him stabilize slightly and became aware of Edmund's presence. He was trying to help, trying to let Harry see his mind in a way that he could understand. It hurt to look. His mind felt like it was being pushed in from all sides, threatening to collapse in on itself—a tiny microbe in a petri dish, trembling and threatening to rupture beneath the gentle push of the tools being used to manipulate it.

He used the image Edmund was giving him and turned his eyes away from the petri dish to look at the world around him, and Edmund presented him with a lab that stretched on forever. People in hazmat suits walked everywhere, carrying or working on the little petri dishes that lined every surface. They helped each other silently, moving carefully, every feature obscured behind their protective equipment and yet Harry felt his mind burn just to look at the conjured image of them. He turned away from the beings, clutching at his head and wishing the pain would stop. The fabricated world began to close in on itself, cracking at the edges and crumbling away.

He heard laughter somewhere, sweet and familiar. When he looked up he saw Ganbri standing in the lab, three years old and proudly holding out his very own petri dish. He felt blood rushing from his nose and his knees gave way. He landed on his hands and knees while Ganbri's tiny feet ran past him and disappeared. He stared down at the floor, watching the blood splatter against the front of his helmet and saw that there was a tear in his glove.

"Harry?"

He was on the floor, gasping for breath. The blood gushing from his nose had not been a part of the hallucination and he could hear it splattering on the floor as it continued to flow. Neither was the pain in his head. His hearts were beating so fast and hard that he knew he was at risk of them giving out, and his entire body was trembling from a state of shock.

Edmund was standing over him, his large eyes round and wide.

"Help Harry."

A thin, pale finger stretched out towards him and Harry's mind screamed at him to get away, but he couldn't move. It was all he could do to keep his hearts beating. Edmund's finger touched him lightly on the chest and some of the pain began to immediately fade away. His hearts slowed to a pace that wasn't life threatening and he gulped in air, feeling like it was finally reaching him.

Edmund pulled his hand back and returned to his usual crouching position, watching Harry with a little frown on his face.

"There," Harry gulped, wiping some of the blood from his nose with the back of his and pointing a finger at Edmund. "Not so nice when someone else does it to you, is it?"

Edmund smiled. Harry suspected that the experience of an unwanted telepathic invasion had somewhat less of an impact than it had had on him. He let himself drop back against the floor again, chest heaving. He couldn't feel blood rushing to the back of his throat like it had before, so he supposed that meant the bleeding had stopped.

He found himself chuckling. Still fighting for breath and wiping the blood from his face onto his shirt while some unnaturally powerful _thing_ watched him curiously, and something about it was just hilarious.

He heard his mother calling his name. She was worried about why he was bleeding.

"It's fine," he answered her dismissively. "It stopped."

"Can you stand up?" she asked next.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"You're lying on the floor, covered in blood, and laughing. You're not fine."

"Mother, I told—"

" _Mother_?"

Harry blinked and looked up. Kel was staring down at him, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Harry smirked at him. It wasn't often that anyone got to see Kel looking stressed out. That was twice today now.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Kel snapped at him. "I was gone for two minutes! What did you do!?"

He felt Kel's hand grip him tightly around the arm, yanking him to his feet. Harry was surprised by the strength behind it. Kel was angry—a rare sight—and yelling at him for being disobedient. Harry felt annoyed listening to him, and annoyed further that Kel seemed to think that he had a right to scold him like a child.

Without much thought, he threw a punch. Only half his heart was in it, so it was slow and a little lazy. Kel sidestepped it easily, eyes growing wide with shock.

Before Harry had even pulled his arm back, Kel had a stun gun gripped firmly in his hand and held it up threateningly. "Try it again, Mott."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I could kill you with my bare hands."

Kel scoffed and quickly switched his stun gun for the pistol that he kept on his belt and pointed it at his face. "I could kill you with a finger, pet. And then take your body, wear it like a suit, and throw it away once I've played with it enough. You don't know what sort of person I am. Do you _really_ want to test me?"

His voice was high and stressed. His eyes were wide and pupils dilated. He'd spread out his feet and kept enough distance between them to keep Harry from being able to grab the gun. He meant it, Harry realized. Perhaps Kel was more than just a lot of talk and attitude.

Harry relaxed his stand, forcing his shoulders to ease back down, and smiled. "You seem stressed, Presley," he sneered. "You should get yourself a fern. I hear they're calming."

Kel glared at him for a moment, his face not moving or changing in the slightest when he answered. "You should clean yourself up before your son sees you, pet," he said in what was barely more than a whisper. "Or did you forget he was here?"

He didn't realize how bad his head hurt until he was far enough away from Kelevra to stop feeling angry at him. He should have thrown a real punch at the little bastard. He forgot how much it could hurt to experience a telepathic fracture; it had been so long since a link had been beyond his ability. He had no doubt that if Ganbri or the Doctor had done what he just did, they would not have survived it. He wasn't even certain _he_ would have survived it if Edmund hadn't helped him.

"Oh my God, Harry. Are you okay?"

He glanced up and saw Declan standing with Rose, staring at him with his mouth open.

"Yeah. Fine," he grunted in return.

Rose stepped forward, her hand moving like she was going to touch him. "You're bleeding."

"No shit. Am I?" he barked back.

She pulled her hand back quickly and moved her mouth like she was going to speak, but didn't. He shouldn't yell at her like that, he thought. She was trying to be nice. And he only felt more irritated for feeling guilty.

He was supposed to be home. He was supposed to be tending his garden and teaching Ganbri how to adapt to his new body. He was supposed to be making dinner with his husband and settling in for lazy movie nights with his family. He was supposed to be repairing things with Jenny and mourning Kahlia again when he was alone.

Instead he was picking fights with a Zumecki maniac, his husband's exgirlfriend, and what was essentially a god.

He turned a corner, headed towards the gym, and he immediately wished that he had stopped somewhere closer and washed a little first. Ganbri and Annie were standing in the middle of the hall, building something that looked far too complicated for a boy Ganbri's age.

He might have had a chance to sneak back around the corner but Annie spotted him and gasped.

"Uncle Harry?"

He shut his eyes and turned his face downward, immediately feeling his headache get worse. He expected to feel Ganbri reach out for his mind, bracing himself for the sharp pain that it would cause. But it didn't come.

He looked back up to see Ganbri looking at him with hollow, sunken eyes. His face was devoid of expression, simply looking him up and down as if he weren't even a person.

"What happened?" Annie asked, rushing over to him. She kept looking back and Ganbri, her hand half reaching to him before changing direction and grabbing hold of Harry's shirt instead. "Ganbri!"

"It's fine, Annie," Harry said quietly, trying to brush her hands away from him. "It's stopped. I just need a wash."

"It doesn't matter if it's stopped. Why did it happen in the first place!?"

Harry smiled a little. Sometimes, Annie sounded so much like her mother.

And, sometimes, Ganbri looked so much like his father.

He stood off to the side. He hadn't taken a step forward. If anything, Harry was sure that he'd taken a step back. However stoic he wanted to look, Harry could see his throat bob up and down as he swallowed hard. His eyes had that dark, burdened look that he'd seen on the Doctor far too often, and his lips were pressed tightly together.

Ganbri made no attempt to connect. He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't try to get a better look. Annie yelled at him again and he shifted, as if only noticing for the first time.

He pushed his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "I'll get Banni." And he left.

Annie started going off about how she didn't know what was wrong with Ganbri but that she was sure it was just stress. She assured him repeatedly that she was looking out for him, repeatedly interrupting herself to ask him where all the blood had come from and not waiting long enough for him to answer.

"Annabelle," he said loudly enough to catch her attention. "I need to go."

He moved to walk past her, but she put a hand on his arm. "But you have to wait for Uncle John. You've gotta let him look at you."

"He'll find me."

He ignored her protests and walked off. He just wanted to get clean before anyone else could see him. He didn't need the situation any worse than it was. Besides, he needed the steam to help clear out his airways. All the clotted blood was making it hard to breathe.

He managed to make it to the gym without running into anyone else. Everyone on the team kept a bag of extra clothes in the locker room at all times ever since Doug overworked himself and threw up all over Nista. A man of Doug's size could produce a lot of vomit . . .

He didn't bother to look at himself in the mirror before getting into the shower. The state of his clothes and the colour of the water going down the drain told him enough. He didn't care for particularly hot showers, but he blasted the heat anyway, hoping that the steam would help clear him out.

His head throbbed and his nose briefly started bleeding again. He hadn't felt this angry or frustrated in a long time and he wasn't even entirely sure where it was all coming from. He decided that he could take a little comfort from the fact that, at least for the moment, Edmund didn't seem to be influencing him.

"Lahrre?" A soft tapping sound came from the shower booth's door. "It's me."

He'd been waiting for the Doctor but, now that he was here, he almost didn't want to see him. He didn't want to look at and see those unbearable mixtures of worry and sadness and guilt. He supposed that was selfish of him—he knew how hard these things were on the Doctor—but he just couldn't do it today. He didn't have it in him to be kind and supportive at the moment. He didn't have the strength to push his own feelings aside. Not right now.

But, still, he gritted his teeth and tried.

"I'm not talking through a door," he answered, loud and clear. "If you want to talk to me, you're going to have to come in here."

There was a long pause. The Doctor would be considering it now, trying to figure out if he was being told to go away or not and then deciding whether he would wait. Harry knew that he wouldn't want to come in the shower. The situation they were in was scary to say the least, and the Doctor was the sort of man who preferred to hide behind masks when he was scared. Coming into the shower meant he would have to undress, leaving him unable to hide, naked and vulnerable.

"Stop overthinking it," Harry suddenly snapped irritably. "If I really didn't want you in here, I would have told you to bugger off. I really don't care what you do, so either get in here or go back to work and I'll see you later."

Just don't make that face. He couldn't look at that face right now.

The Doctor didn't say anything, but Harry managed to catch the sound of his shoes dropping to the floor. He was getting undressed, apparently. Harry found himself rolling his eyes as he listened, knowing that his husband would be undressing painfully slowly, carefully folding and placing everything in neat little piles.

After an eternity, the door to the shower booth finally popped open. The Doctor stepped inside, eyes cast downward and body language suggesting that he already felt uncomfortable. Harry decided that he didn't have the energy to play games. He gave the Doctor a nod and a word of acknowledgement and turned his attention back to the water, focusing on washing his hair.

There was another lengthy silence, in which he was far too aware of the way the Doctor was fidgeting behind him. He started to feel irritated by his presence. Apparently, it was noticed.

"Ganbri said you were bleeding," the Doctor began cautiously. "He said it was a lot."

"It was," Harry answered. He kept the edge from his voice, trying to sound as casual as he could. "I was trying to get information from Edmund and gave myself a fracture. Don't try to link with me for a while."

He saw the way the Doctor's eyes widened slightly, mouth hanging open a little. He'd been holding onto one of his arms, looking like a wounded and frightened animal, but the hand slipped carelessly down.

"A fracture?"

"Yeah. I can't remember the last time that happened to me. Edmund really is something else."

And there it was. That look of worry. He couldn't stand it.

"I'll take it easy for a few days," he continued as though he hadn't noticed the change in the Doctor's facial expression and put his head back under the water. "As long as I avoid linking with anyone, I should heal up just fine."

"Harry . . ."

Not looking at him wasn't enough. It was in his voice. Even shutting out all telepathic signals wasn't helping. It was like a scent in the air that he couldn't ignore—a fog of anxious guilt that hung around his husband like a curse.

"He helped guide me a little," Harry kept talking. "I'm sure what I saw was helpful but it's all a bit of a blur. I need some time to think it over, but I got something."

"You could have been hurt."

"I wonder what that's like."

He glanced back just in time to see the Doctor's brows locking together. "This isn't funny, Harry."

"Trust me, I know." Harry stepped out from the water, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Just shut up and wash your hair."

"I don't want to wash my hair," the Doctor answered quickly in that snippy little voice he used when he was irritated. Harry grabbed him by the arm and gently pushed him towards the water, ignoring the way the Doctor's hands swatted at him. "I'm trying to talk to you, Harry!"

"I'm bored of the conversation," Harry answered, running his hands through the Doctor's hair to help the water get through it. "I linked with Edmund. I learned some things but it caused a fracture. In a few days, I'll heal. I don't really care to explore the topic any further than that when I could watch you taking a shower instead."

The Doctor stared at him for a moment with a facial expression that showed he was completely unimpressed. "The universe is about to end, a being we know nothing about has an unknown amount of influence over you, and you almost cracked your skull in half trying to link with it and you want to watch me shower?"

"Do any of those things stop me from being your husband?"

"Of _course_ not but, Harry, if something had happened—"

"Do I need to get in a fist fight with Jack to make my point again?" Harry cut in sharply.

The Doctor stopped short, blinking at him in surprise. Water was trickling down the sides of his face, plastering his hair to his head and dripping off of his nose and ears. Harry didn't understand how he was still confused.

He placed a hand on either side of his husband's face, turning it downward to make sure the Doctor was looking him in the eye. "You are _not_ my caretaker," he explained slowly. "It is _not_ your job to monitor my actions for safety or to manage me like I'm some ill patient of yours. It's _not_ your job to stop me from feeling stressed or angry or sad—I'm an adult and I'm allowed to feel those things. You _are_ my husband. Your job is to love me, especially if I have to suffer the presence of someone like Rose Tyler. Your job is to worry about our children and whether we're helping them enough. And your job is to remember that we have lives outside of this mess."

The Doctor swallowed hard. His eyes still looked sad but it was better than the worried-half-to-death look that he had before. He brought his hands up and gently grabbed hold of Harry's wrists. His mouth moved a little, but he looked at a loss for words. Harry decided to help him.

"I need you to _do your job_ ," Harry said clearly. "Will you do that for me?"

"Of course," the Doctor answered quickly, his hands gripping eagerly at Harry's wrists, nodding his head slightly. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."

Harry smiled slightly and let one of his thumbs sweep across the Doctor's cheek. "Then tell me you love me."

"I love you," he answered without hesitation and a little too eagerly. "I do, Harry. I love you."

He was still trying. Harry needed him to stop trying so hard.

"Alright, now get down and your knees and open your mouth."

And there it was. That old, familiar grin cracked across the Doctor's face and the worry in his eyes was immediately replaced with an amused twinkle. One hand let go of Harry's wrist to take a swipe at him but didn't get the chance. The moment Harry saw his husband's real face again, he couldn't resist him. He pushed himself forward, bringing their lips and bodies together, pushing the Doctor against the shower wall.

"Tell me you love me," Harry whispered between kisses.

"I love you, Harry," the Doctor breathed. And, that time, it sounded real.

Narin flooded his senses and, though he knew that he ought to block it out, he didn't want to. His hands were in the Doctor's hair again and the Doctor's arms were wrapping around him, pulling him tight, one hand venturing towards his shevra. It felt good to explore him, to feel his hands and his tongue and his skin. It was good to feel something hard pressing against his hip and to hear the way the Doctor gasped when he grabbed hold of it.

"My neck," the Doctor said with a stutter, his arms coming up and his fingers tangling into Harry's hair. Harry obeyed and latched his lips to the Doctor's neck, using his teeth to gently nip the flesh there while his hand worked below. The Doctor let out a soft moan and arched his body forward, his grip on Harry's hair tight.

The Doctor's body kept arching towards him, shifting in an almost bizarre way. It took Harry a moment to realize that he was raising one of his legs, trying to get some firm footing on a small shelf that was cut into the shower's stone wall. Harry quickly released the flesh in this teeth to get a better look while the Doctor was wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and shoulders.

"I know you were just kidding," the Doctor said breathlessly, using his new foothold to start raising himself up. "But I'm not." One arm reached up to grab hold of the shower head while the other remained around Harry's shoulders, and the leg that wasn't holding him up began to wrap around Harry's waist, pulling him closer. "Hold me up, Harry."

He'd be lying if he ever claimed that it wasn't a difficult thing to do. The Doctor might not have weighed much but he was a tall man and his long limbs could be awkward to handle. Still, Harry would never complain about what was asked of him. He grabbed hold of the Doctor's hips, helping to raise him up and holding him long enough for him to get his leg wrapped comfortably around Harry's waist.

When he was ready, the Doctor gave a quick nod and bit down on his lip in anticipation. Harry pushed inside, letting gravity help him get in deep. The Doctor shuddered and moaned, his body quickly moving and adjusting to his new position.

"I want it hard," the Doctor instructed him in a voice that already sounded too excited. "Go."

Harry did as he was told and drove upward. He moved his hands from the Doctor's hips to his backside, grabbing a handful of meat in each, simultaneously supporting some of the Doctor's body's weight and spreading him open wider. He went fast and hard, as he had been asked to, pushing the Doctor into the wall and earning a symphony of rewarding sounds from his husband's mouth.

It got more difficult the longer they went. The Doctor was beginning to lose concentration and shifting around in ways that made it harder to hold him up. Harry pushed him hard against the wall as he thrust and tried not to lose concentration himself. But it was so hard to concentrate when he could feel the Doctor's body responding to him so eagerly.

The showerhead had begun to creak and groan, threatening to give way, so the Doctor released it and returned his arm to Harry's shoulder, both wrapping around him tight again. The loss of support meant that the Doctor's body dropped a couple of inches and earned Harry a sound somewhere between an excited moan and a pained shout while the Doctor's muscles tightened around him.

It felt so good. Even with the Doctor's fingers clawing into his back, tracing against old, vicious looking scars and waking up the pain beneath them, it felt too good to care.

"I want to see you," Harry panted. "I want to watch."

The Doctor nodded his head quickly and began bringing his legs down. Harry gripped his arms and pulled him down to the floor. The shower floor was just big enough for the Doctor to lay on his back as long as his legs weren't straightened. And Harry didn't want them straightened.

He put a hand under each of the Doctor's thighs, guiding his legs open and up, exposing everything and giving him easy access. He took a moment to savior the way the Doctor squirmed with longing, eyes clamped shut, mouth parted and eager, hands grasping at the floor and the air, desperately searching for something to anchor to. The Doctor's hips were moving, even without Harry inside him, trying to recreate the feeling of being filled.

Harry slid inside again, intentionally going slowly just to hear the sounds of complaint that escaped the Doctor's lips. He pushed in to the hilt, one hand gripping the Doctor's hip firmly to keep him from moving too much, and leaned forward, over top of the other body.

He watched with glee as the Doctor began to open his eyes and arch his back in frustration. His hands grabbed at Harry's body, squeezing his arms, gripping his shoulders, clawing at his back. The Doctor even grabbed hold of his head to pull him down for a fevered kiss before he broke away with another frustrated groan.

"Harry!" he complained loudly.

Harry grinned and pulled out slowly. "Yes?" he asked innocently.

"Stop _teasing_ me."

Harry began pushing inside again, going painfully slow. "Oh, did you still want me to give it to you hard?"

"Yes!" the Doctor moaned loudly, pushing his body downwards against Harry. "Harry, please!"

Harry grinned and pecked a quick kiss on the Doctor's eager lips before sitting straight up. He pulled the Doctor's body a little closer and then placed his hands on the inside of the Doctor's thighs, holding them down. At this angle, he had an excellent view for watching himself sink deep into the Doctor's body and for watching every twitch and muscle spasm he got back for it.

He didn't give a warning before he thrust forward this time, just so he could hear another one of those shouted moans when he entered with force. The shout was immediately followed by a satisfied sounding, shuddering moan. The Doctor's hands reached up to the wall above his head, biting his lip as he pushed against the wall and tried to force Harry deeper inside of him.

Oh, it was a beautiful thing to watch.

He took the Doctor's length in his hand, gripping tight and pumping in rhythm with his own movements. Hard and fast, just as he'd been asked, and Harry loved watching how much the Doctor loved to be ridden.

He was getting close and he decided not to fight it. He grabbed both of the Doctor's hips tightly and held him as close as he could, thrusting with abandon as that marvelous pressure built up in him. He moaned loudly when he finally released, holding the Doctor tight against him. It took him a few seconds to realize that the Doctor had opened his eyes and was watching Harry eagerly as he came inside of him.

Harry pulled out of his husband and shifted positions before the Doctor had a chance to give any input. He put a hand on the insides of the Doctor's thighs, holding them apart again as he moved downward and took the Doctor into his mouth. The Doctor moaned out some words of appreciation and his body seemed to melt into the shower floor as Harry's tongue worked.

One of the Doctor's hands gripped at Harry's shoulder and pulled at it eagerly. He stammered over his own moans before finally managing to grunt out, "Inside me."

Harry pulled his head back for a moment while he moved his hand into position. "Only if you look at me," he ordered firmly. "I want you to look at me while you come."

"Okay," the Doctor panted.

Harry slid two of his fingers inside of the Doctor, fingers massaging while his mouth set back to work. The Doctor moaned and strained and his eyes closed several times as he begun to lose himself, but he always forced them back open to look at Harry.

Before long, his body was beginning to tremble and his breaths were coming in more ragged than before. "H-Harry," he gasped, one of his hands grasping at Harry's hair so that he could try to force himself deeper into his mouth. "Harry, I—" His voice dissolved into a series of incomprehensible gasps and moans, his fingers pulling a little too tightly at Harry's hair.

Harry responded by increasing the speed in which he was thrusting his own fingers and sinking his head lower, taking the Doctor in as far as he could. The Doctor's back arched up, an odd strangled sound escaping his throat, but his eyes kept watching. Harry watched as his husband lost control of himself, until even the point that he couldn't hold eye contact anymore. His eyes closed, his head tilted back, and Harry's mouth filled with a familiar, bitter taste.

The Doctor kept his grip on Harry's hair for a moment longer, small gasps escaping as Harry's tongue worked around him to swallow. He was watching again, watching with a sleepy and satisfied look as he slowly moved his hips, savoring a few last movements in Harry's mouth before finally withdrawing.

Harry smirked as he watched the Doctor relax completely onto the shower floor. "I think you needed that a little more than I thought you did."

"Mm, I didn't get much sleep," the Doctor answered simply. He was pulling his legs in and shifting to sit up, trying to make himself a little less exposed. His eyes were already drooping.

Harry gave him a light slap on the thigh. "Get yourself cleaned up and then you can stow away somewhere for a nap." He wouldn't have minded a nap himself. His head still hurt from the fracture and he felt like he'd lost most of the energy that he'd started the day with. The thought of finding some little cot in the dark to curl up with husband and sort through the images in his head sounded marvelous.

He helped the Doctor to his feet and gave himself a quick wash. He stopped to give the Doctor a lingering kiss before leaving him to do his own washing. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed a second to scrub at his hair with, and wandered towards the locker room in search of fresh clothes.

He hadn't expected to find Kevin there.

Kevin looked just as surprised to see him.

"Hey," he said simply, clearing his throat.

Harry nodded in return, eying the other man up as he walked to his locker. Kevin was there for fresh clothes too, it seemed. He'd taken his shirt off already but Harry could see that there were blood smears on it, despite Kevin's attempts to hide it. His eyes were reddened and his face looked a little more worn than Harry was used to seeing.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Kevin answered with a quick nod, bunching the dirty shirt up in his hands and tossing it into his locker. "You know, just, not exactly an easy day so far."

Harry nodded again and took a slow, deep breath in through his nose, trying not to look too obvious. Some of the blood reeked of time energy—Jack's—while the rest was clearly Alreesh. He could smell J.J.'s sweat as well.

"What happened?"

Kevin dug through his gym bag but he didn't seem to be seeing any of it, picking up and putting down the same items over and over again. "Ask the Captain," he muttered in return.

"Or you could just tell me," Harry said in a way that he hoped sounded gentle. He turned around to open his locker and pull his gym bag out.

"Not my business to tell," Kevin answered. He glanced over at Harry and frowned slightly. "What the hell happened to your back, mate?"

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "They're from a long time ago. Long story."

"No. No, I've seen the scars before. I'm talking about those new scratches. Really, it almost looks like—"

"You don't suppose Jack has any full sized beds around this place, do you?"

The Doctor's voice announced his presence before he strolled around the corner from the showers, a clear new spring in his step as he dried his hair. Before the Doctor even realized what had happened, Kevin was looking at Harry in pure disbelief.

"You guys just had sex?" he blurted out, face a mess of confusion. "After everything you just found out, you went to the showers to have sex?"

The Doctor had completely frozen where he stood, his hand still holding the towel to his hair. "Hi, Kevin," he said weakly.

"Wow." Kevin simply blinked. "Well, that's one way to react to finding out you might die."

"Looks like it was better than how J.J. reacted."

"Yeah. No, that would have been easier on everybody," he agreed quickly.

The Doctor was rushing forward now, face red and words coming out a bit jumbled. "We were just—Harry got a nosebleed, Kevin. He just had to get wa—"

"You scratched the hell out of my back, Doctor," Harry interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "He knows what we were doing."

The Doctor glared at him in annoyance and continued talking anyway. "I really just wanted to check on him. You know, with the—"

"Yeah, I know," Kevin interrupted next, finally pulling a clean shirt from his locker. "Listen, it's not my business. I don't care. Though, I actually was wondering if you could do me a favour, Doctor."

"Yes, of course," the Doctor perked up immediately at the chance to change the subject. "What do you need?"

Kevin gestured to the scars on his chest from his surgery a few years back. "I've been meaning to get this removed forever," he explained, pointing out an extra little flap of skin that stuck out along the scar line on one side. "Kel said he'd do it but I can never catch him at a good time and I can't be bothered to go through the fuss with a hospital. Do you think you could help me out?"

"Oh, um, yes. I should think so." The Doctor stepped forward timidly to have a look. He felt self-conscious wearing nothing but a towel and his cheeks were still burning with the embarrassment of being caught but he was trying his hardest to hide it.

Harry got dressed and listened to the Doctor chat about what options Kevin had but it sounded like it would be pretty straight forward. He'd slice the extra skin off with a laser—no bleeding, very little pain, and only a day or two to heal fully. Kevin slipped a shirt on and asked if it could be done immediately and the Doctor agreed.

A moment later, the Doctor wandered off with his clothes to get dressed in private, leaving Harry and Kevin alone for a moment.

Harry watched the other man shift uncomfortably a few times. He kept hooking his fingers around his wrist and gazing up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. Harry didn't need telepathy to understand.

"What are you gonna do with the skin?" Harry asked.

Kevin looked a little startled by the question. He scratched at the back of his neck and his eyes moved about, as if looking for an answer. Harry held his hand up to silence him before he said something stupid or untrue.

"You think he needs you?"

Kevin frowned slightly, his back straightening a little. "No."

"You think you need him?"

Kevin frowned a little harder. "It's not about needing."

Harry smirked. "It is." He walked towards the exit, clapping a hand on Kevin's shoulder has he passed. "Trust me on that."

He left Kevin to wait alone and headed off to find somewhere quiet to rest until his headache eased up a little. There were sleeping cots in several areas around Torchwood and Harry went to the one he knew to be furthest from where Doug worked. He left the lights off, shut the door, and crawled into a cot.

It all had to be connected somehow, he thought. It wasn't a coincidence that Edmund knew Rose's name or that the people who'd thought it was a good idea for the two to meet happened to be the ones who were infected. There was a plan behind it or, at the very least, some sort of thought process.

The first and easiest solution was that the Bad Wolf was the friend that Edmund was always talking about, but it just didn't sit right with Harry. Edmund, as creepy as he could be, didn't feel sinister—he never had. He supposed that was where the infection came into place, establishing a sense of calm and trust where there had been none, but it was hard to look past.

He remembered the images of the infinite lab he'd been given, trying to remember every single detail. It made his head hurt worse just to attempt to remember and he wiped a trace of fresh blood from his nose more than once while he thought. There was something there, he was sure of it. Edmund wouldn't have constructed that image for him for no reason.

But his head ached and throbbed and his body was still tired and satisfied. The dark and the cool and the quiet were all so very inviting. He just needed some time to rest and process.

Harry closed his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11: Notes of Dr Kelevra Presley

Memory is getting worse. I don't remember going home yesterday but I woke up in my flat. I've never had a body give up this early before. Perhaps it's predisposed to memory loss. Could be early-onset Alzheimer's. I'll find another one. Note everything until then.

Arrived approximately 0545. No one awake at headquarters. I'm the first again. Harkness is asleep in his office. Mott does not appear to have regained consciousness. Noble asleep. Others are gone.

Signals indicate that all subjects except Edwards are still asleep.

Edwards: Awake, inactive, increased levels of oxytocin. Activity suggests external stimuli—TV?

Noble: Distressed.

Harkness: Actively distressed—nightmare?

Noble-Mott: Distressed.

Davies: Distressed.

Nista: Sedated—seems to be cooperating with medication. Surprising.

Mott shows excessive activity but patterns appear random—print records for further analysis. Nothing unusual with others.

Edmund is here. His notes indicate that he has been and gone six times through the night. Check surveillance to confirm. Check surveillance for contact with remaining staff.

"Hello. Hello, Kel. Help. Kel Help."

Edmund appears concerned but does not leave confines of cell—asked for oranges and celery. Asked if Mott would wake up if request granted. Edmund agreed. Oranges and celery given. Activity for Mott decreased, though still irregular.

D. Burke: Awake.

Communication incoming from D. Burke: "Morning sugarpie". Incoming 2: "Got something big for ya". Sexual innuendo?

Outgoing message: "Don't tease me."

Incoming: "I mean an idea you fucking perv lol".

I don't believe anyone really laughs when they put "lol", but I believe Doug does. He's honest like that.

D. Burke: Calm, with regular spikes of joy. He's happy today.

Noble: Awake, distressed. Stress increase. Agitation. Increased activity—aggression, unknown. Cameras show him pacing. Clenched fists. Pulling at index and middle fingers on right hand—nervous habit.

Harkness: Nightmare appears to be over. Asleep.

Communication incoming from D. Burke: "There in an hour. You eat?"

Don't remember. Forgot to write it down.

Outgoing message: "Spoil me."

Write down meals from now on.

Incoming message: "As you wish".

Why can't the others have attitudes like that? Investigate/query outgoing signal from mother plants. Don't do that.

Should have asked Doug to bring me coffee. The coffee here is terrible. Ask Captain to order different coffee.

Cameras show Noble grasping at head. Signals indicate pain, aggression, increased unknown activity. Have I seen that before? I would have written it down. Check notes. Monitor for similar signals in other subjects.

Camera surveillance unavailable from 0520 to 0550 AM—system reboot? Ask Burkes to confirm. Available surveillance confirms six departures in the night. No evidence of contact with staff. No evidence of physically leaving cell. Unna watches the body while he's gone. Not the first time. Monitor activity in Unna for signs of infection.

Did I feed Unna? Not in notes. Write down Unna's care from now on.

Unna fed. Only ate half. May have already fed her.

Camera surveillance confirms I fed Unna shortly after arrival. Notify Edwards to preserve suitable corpse. Shame. Telepathic species would be advantageous.

Davies: Awake. Mild distress. Oxytocin increase. Nothing unusual.

Signal surveillance indicates excessive alcohol consumption in Harkness before sleep. Distress. He's struggling. Camera surveillance shows repeatedly picking up phone and putting it down, handling memorabilia in office. Signal indicates emotional pain. Attempts to open communication with Nista failed—backfired, very negative reaction. Reassess and attempt again when appropriate.

Bring Jack coffee when he wakes. Partner with team member ASAP. Don't leave him alone. Emotional distress may cause susceptibility to infection.

Temple-Noble: Awake. Early. Signal indicates high energy, mild stress levels.

Camera surveillance shows Noble awake at 0200, evidence of distress, crying. Signal surveillance indicates depressive episode/anxiety. Consider discreet treatment. Don't do that. Unknown activity.

Signal surveillance confirms unknown activity also present with Noble-Mott. Natural to species? Check records.

Think I found something.

Interesting pattern in signal surveillance regarding infected. Infected subjects all appeared to have varying reactions to knowledge of infection with no visible patterns. However, signal surveillance indicate patterns present in all three subjects, though with varying intensity and timelines.

All three infected displayed calm signals, consistent with that of the infection, followed by primary surges in testosterone and adrenaline, cortisol, second adrenaline rush, high levels of oxytocin, and returning to signal consistent with infection.

Available signal surveillance confirms Noble and Edwards releasing cortisol, adrenaline, and oxytocin parallel to infected. Third partner unknown. Infected contagious?

More careful examination of camera surveillance confirms pattern.

Testosterone/Adrenaline: D. Burke first to experience raised levels. Camera shows outward signs of aggression while meeting still in progress—clenched fists, tense facial muscles, verbal outburst. Mott and Nista remain almost synchronized with outward aggression against Harkness and Edmund happening less than a minute apart.

Cortisol: Excessive release after aggressive outbursts in all three infected. Heavily distressed.

Adrenaline: Timelines and hormonal experiences vary widely here, though Adrenaline remains primary release in all three infected. Nista first to experience second Adrenaline surge, combined with stress, anxiety, and fear. Camera surveillance confirms visible distress, shaking, crying, grasping at self—anxiety attack. Mott and D. Burke displayed adrenaline via signal surveillance, though cameras unavailable. Both displayed chemical combinations heavily suggestive of sexual activity—Noble signal surveillance consistent with Mott. Nista and Mott experiences minutes apart, D. Burke several hours later.

Oxytocin: Expected following sexual activity. Signal and camera surveillance for Nista and Edwards suggest emotional and physical comfort following anxiety attack. I chose well. Timeline variation still applies—Nista and Mott minutes apart, while D. Burke followed several hours later.

Signal consistent with infection resumes.

Why the variation? Possibly due to lack of access to partner at headquarters for D. Burke. Possible that the pattern is coincidence?

Haven't been watching live signals.

Noble-Mott: Awake, inactive, unknown activity, distressed. Signal suggests potential depressive episode. That's new.

I can't leave.

Deactivated Temple-Noble teleport. Remember to reinstate authorization later.

C. Burke: Awake. Signal suggests usual morning jog. Memory centers active.

Edwards: Mild adrenaline spike several minutes ago. Increase in dopamine levels. External stimuli still present.

Nista: Semi-conscious—medication doesn't appear to have fully worn off yet. Lower dosage. Signal consistent with infection with mild oxytocin and serotonin anomalies. Good morning.

Harkness: Asleep.

Just had realization. Behavioural patterns in infected yesterday similar to own. Check records to confirm.

Testosterone/Aggressive behaviour present in second adrenaline surge, rather than first. Relevant?

Am I infected?

Camera surveillance shows that Edmund has left his cell and appeared outside my office. He's staring at the door. I think he's watching me through it. Nothing to be done.

Noble: Unknown activity ceased. Activity appears normal.

Mott: Activity steadily decreasing.

I threw a garbage can at the door. Edmund is gone now.

Nista: Awake. Signal inconsistent with infection but still calm. Increase in serotonin. No signs of aggression or distress.

I'm happy.

Harkness: Still asleep but showing signs of waking.

Ask to order different coffee. I wrote that already.

What if I am infected? Would I be able to tell? My observations would mean nothing. Need subjective view point. Is infection attached to the body or the mind? Possible that new body could clear infection?

Doug brought me coffee. He knows I don't like the coffee here. Ask to

0715: Ham and egg wrap, coffee, poppy seed muffin.

Doug is concerned about why the garbage can was against the door. Told him I accidentally knocked it over and it rolled. I don't think he believe me. Consider possibility that infected will protect Edmund—I couldn't fight Doug off if he thought I was a threat. I couldn't fight the others either. I can't fight.

Check that gun is loaded once Doug leaves.

Communication incoming from Temple-Noble: "Teleport's not working".

Signal surveillance indicates minor agitation.

Noble-Mott: No change.

Forgot about Tyler. Doug asked how she is. _Completely forgot_. Write census sheet for each morning—can't forget again.

Tyler: Awake. Reading in bed. Doesn't appear that I've missed anything.

Communication incoming from Temple-Noble: "KEL", followed by attempted phone call.

Doug looks suspicious. I told him it was the wife, answered with joke about infidelity. If I act amused, he forgets. Good men forget to be suspicious.

Temple-Noble: Mild agitation. Signal surveillance suggests increase in external stimuli—she's gone outside.

Noble-Mott: No change.

Nista: Accelerated heart rate, adrenaline. He's happy. Unusually happy. Some mild distress.

Edwards: Normal heart rate. Nothing unusual.

What's happening there? Records of hormone levels in Nista for last two weeks briefly run through—never this high. Edwards remains steady. Is someone else in the house? Query establishing visual surv Don't do that.

Harkness: Still asleep.

No other notable changes in remaining subjects.

Doug is curious about what has my attention. He wants me to train him to read the signals. It might not be a bad idea. I need someone to monitor me for infection. Uninfected would be best for subjective view. Perhaps Edwards?

I gave Doug a brief lesson anyway. He seemed eager to learn and I like him. I think he likes me too. He makes a good student.

Secure monitoring stations when leaving the lab from now on.

Temple-Noble: Distressed.

Noble-Mott: Distressed.

Interference successful.

Nista's signal continues to conflict itself, showing varying combinations of emotional distress and joy. Doug notes that Nista has previously displayed mixed emotions regarding his homeworld and genetic family. Signals have also shown similar emotions around Harkness. Possible mobile communication from Harkness? Query establishing communi Don't do that.

C. Burke has arrived at headquarters. Nothing unusual on surveillance. Some stress, face looks determined on camera. Heading to showers, as per usual routine.

Edwards: Sudden surge in dopamine. Slightly accelerated heart rate.

Nista: No change.

Harkness: No change.

Temple-Noble and Noble-Mott: Stabilizing steadily. Release of oxytocin.

It does not appear that I can be of any further use for the moment.

Doug has explained his idea to me. He claims that the signal consistent within the infected is too consistent. He believes that Edmund is attempting to communicate, rather than control. He believes that the influence is a signature of sorts.

Edmund is telling us who he is.

This needs to be considered further. I need more information. Why did he choose them?

0748: Interview with Agent Douglas Burke transcribed from audio recording with observational notes added.

Presley: "Please tell me as much as you can remember about the moment you became infected."

Burke: "It happened pretty fast. There's not much to tell really."

Presley: "Try just starting from the beginning—the moment you approached Edmund."

Burke: "We were trying to teach him to talk. Well, Harry and John were. That was when Harry was touched. Or, you know, infected. Threw up all over the fucking place, couldn't remember any of it. Then he told me to take over, let Edmund put his hands inside my fucking throat and feel around. And everyone left."

Presley: "You were alone?"

Burke: "Yeah. John said he would come back but that I should get started. He wasn't gone very long."

Presley: "So what did Edmund do once you were alone?"

Burke: "Nothing. Watched me."

Signal surveillance indicates slight raise in heart rate at this moment. Outward signs of nervousness, fidgeting.

Presley: "You were reluctant to work with Edmund that day."

Burke: "Yeah. You wouldn't be? I'm supposed to let him use my vocal chords like a fucking toy after I just watched what he did to Harry? That's fucking scary, mate."

Presley: "You were afraid?"

Burke: "Yes."

Presley: "Of Edmund?"

Burke: "Not much else to be afraid of around here except for Nista on a bad day."

Presley: "Describe the exact moment of infection."

Burke: "Uh . . . I was alone with him. I was supposed to start. He knew what we were doing so he reached his hands out towards my throat. I got scared and stepped back. I probably swore or something."

Presley: "Did you think you were in danger?"

Burke: "Not exactly."

Presley: "Did you think that Edmund meant to hurt you?"

Burke's face tenses. He appears to be uncomfortable and seems to be struggling to remember. He shrugs and sighs.

Presley: "What do you think you were afraid of?"

Burke: "I don't know. I just . . . I didn't know what he fucking is, you know? I didn't know what he wanted or what he could do. I just don't know."

Presley: "What happened next?"

Burke: "He stood up, fucking tall as you like. He touched me on my forehead with one finger and it felt like getting touched by one of those little bug zapper things. Funny tingles all down my body, felt a bit like going over the high point on a roller coaster."

Presley: "How long did the sensation last?"

Burke shrugs.

Burke: "A second. It was over so fast, I wasn't even sure something had happened."

Presley: "And how did you feel after that?"

Burke: "Better. Calm. He smiled at me and it felt nice instead of creepy. Then he reached for my throat and I let him."

Presley: "You trusted that he wouldn't hurt you?"

Burke: "He just wanted to learn how to talk."

Presley: "You never became physically ill or experienced any other physical symptoms?"

Burke: "No."

Presley: "Did you ever black out or lose time?"

Burke: "No. I remember everything."

Presley: "Were you single and living alone at the time of infection?"

Burke: "Yeah. Been that way for a long fucking time, mate."

Presley: "Did you feel any desire to change your circumstances after the infection?"

Burke: "No more than normal. I mean, nobody wants to be alone."

Presley: "But you felt no noticeable change?"

Burke: "No."

Presley: "Any noticeable changes in the relationships between you and family members?"

Burke: "Celeste and I stayed the same as ever. My mum lives out of the country. I don't talk to her much. We were never that close."

Presley: "And there were no changes there?"

Burke: "No. Card on my birthday and Christmas, like normal. Well, I sent her flowers on her birthday."

Presley: "Was that unusual for you?"

Burke appears uncomfortable again. Smiling, avoiding eye contact, picking at his thumb nail.

Burke: "We're card people, really. But I sent her flowers that year. She called me to say thank you and we talked a little. Didn't say anything important but it was nice."

Burke is still smiling but signal surveillance suggests a drop in mood. He's sad and hiding it. Suggests that relationship with mother did not have any long-lasting or significant change after infection.

Presley: "How about your colleagues? Did you notice any changes in your relationships at work?"

Burke: "Yeah. I don't think Nista and Harry ever liked me before but they calmed down a bit after the, uh . . . the touching thing. They still yell at me and shit but it's not like before."

Presley: "Do you feel closer to them?"

Burke: "I hugged Nista when they came back from . . . you know, whatever happened that fucked up his face."

Elegantly put, as always. The man has a gift with words.

Presley: "You've hugged Nista before."

Burke: "He doesn't like it. He gets bristly and mean. But he didn't get mean that time and he just let me hug him. Even seemed like he liked it. I don't know, I guess I just thought it was the shock or one of those things they tell you about where people like other people more after they've been through something traumatic. Or maybe . . . like, the fucking head injury or something. I don't know."

Presley: "You mentioned Professor Mott as well."

Burke: "I don't think we're friends or anything. He just doesn't yell at me as much. We just get along better."

Presley: "What do you think the infection means?"

Burke: "It means we're stronger. I've always been willing to lay it down for those guys but I don't think they would have done the same for me before this. Now we're the same. I die for them. They die for me. No question."

Presley: "You believe that's what the infection has done?"

Burke: "I know it has. Edmund wants us to take care of each other. Like a family."

Interview terminated. Burke dismissed to continue with own assignments.

Upon closer inspection of signal surveillance during the interview, all three infected returned to their infected status at precisely the same moment, when Burke was asked what he believes the infection means. This suggests that his answer may have been fabricated, whether by Burke or Edmund. The infected signal prevents me from being able to detect a lie or other discomfort.

The interview with Burke revealed less than I had hoped for. I did not find any information to suggest that the infected are contagious but I can't entirely trust the answers I'm given, especially if the subject's brain activity is consistent with the infection. I don't know if his answers are being controlled or manipulated.

Temple-Noble and Noble-Mott have arrived at the facility with signs of only mild distress. No interference necessary. Davies has also arrived and set to work—nothing unusual in signals.

Harkness showed signs of waking. Took him coffee, made small talk. Harkness mentioned that Nista came to apologize to him after the attack—Progress? No further contact. I've asked the Captain to stay with Tyler for the day as I can't fully monitor her, protect her and keep her away from Edmund. He agreed. Oddly enough, I get the sense that he trusts me more than before.

Mott: Beginning to show signs of waking. I am hopeful he will regain consciousness soon.

Noble: Eager, nervous, but appears relieved. No signs of aggression or unknown signal. Signal suggests thirst and hunger pangs. Does not appear to have left room all morning—failing to care for self.

Camera surveillance shows Harkness and Tyler heading for kitchens.

Heating system in Sleeping Quarters 2C activated. Locked.

Stationed self near teleport to await arrival of other staff. It is very unlike Nista to be the last one to headquarters, though understandable with current situation. Signals for both Nista and Edwards have returned to usual activity.

Some commotion between both Burkes and Davies. Disagreement over activities involving system security. Does not appear to be serious. Investigate further via camera surveillance at a later time.

Research in database regarding Burke's theory reveals little. Searches primarily reveal cultural myths of spiritual creatures and possession, either forced or voluntary. Myths across the galaxies tend to share similar traits, often credited to the insecurities and fears of the mortal and imperfect mind—might be foolish not to consider alternative.

Noble approached to ask about heating, concerned for Mott. Suggested he get icepacks from the kitchens until heating system corrected. Sensed agitation but conversation ended without incident. Noble headed to kitchens.

Heating system in Sleeping Quarters 2C unlocked, deactivated. Air conditioning system activated and temperature set. Mott showing only mild signs of distress.

Nista and Edwards arrived at headquarters. Both appeared relaxed. Edwards was smiling. Noted that Nista appeared to be wearing his leather bracelet—he hasn't worn it for over a year. Might explain strange emotional changes this morning.

Intercepted Nista for medical exam and injury assessment. Hesitated but agreed without accompaniment from Edwards.

Camera surveillance shows Noble talking with Harkness and Tyler in the kitchens. All three appear distressed. Audio disabled with Nista present, but Harkness has put a plate in front of Noble. Appears to be telling him to eat. Interference successful.

Injury is healing slower than expected, likely due to high levels of stress. Cut to left forearm new since last exam—the story is a broken glass while doing dishes. Agreed to brief interview. Emphasized brief.

0835: Interview with Agent Jack Nista transcribed from audio recording with observational notes added.

Presley: "I want you to tell me about the moment you were infected."

Nista: "Same as what happened to Harry. He touched my forehead and I woke up puking. I don't remember anything in between."

Presley: "What about the events that led up to it? What were you doing and, more specifically, how did you feel and what sort of state of mind were you in?"

Nista appears uncomfortable. His chin is lowered and he's touching his bracelet.

Nista: "All this—this shit is confidential, right?"

Presley: "Absolutely. Scout's honour."

Nista continues to hesitate. His chin has lowered further and the muscles in his shoulders are tense. He does not like to admit weakness.

Presley: "Were you upset?"

Nista: "Yeah. Kind of. I was stressed out."

Presley: "Did this stress have physical symptoms?"

Nista: "It was only just starting. I was starting to shake and breathe fast. It was hard to think straight."

Presley: "Do you believe you were having an anxiety attack?"

His lips pull back slightly, exposing his teeth to me. His muscles tense for an instant too.

Presley: "This information is important to understanding the nature of the infection. We need to establish if there are any similarities between the events."

Nista: "Fine. Yeah. It was an anxiety attack."

Presley: "Thank you. Do you have any thoughts as to what brought the attack on?"

Nista: "It had been a bad week. I had a fractured rib and it hurt, which didn't help anything. I was stressed out. I'd made some mistakes that would have gotten me killed on my own planet and I didn't like it."

Presley: "Were you afraid that you would be punished for these mistakes?"

Nista: "No. I mean, I—No. Well . . . Did Kevin ask you to talk to me about this?"

Presley: "What makes you say that?"

Nista: "He wants me to see a shrink. This seems like shrink shit."

His voice is sharp but his body language has changed to become slightly more open. Does he want to talk?

Presley: "I've not been approached. This is strictly for gathering information regarding the infection. But I am perfectly willing to listen if you do want to talk and I will keep everything you tell me confidential."

More hesitation, though his position is shifting. His chin is not as low as it was and his shoulders have relaxed. He is still touching his bracelet though, hooking his fingers onto it—seeking comfort.

Nista: "You don't think right when you get . . . anxious like that. It can be like being in a dream where part of your brain knows something is impossible but everything else is telling you it isn't. I knew that most of them are dead and they had no way of knowing what happened or of finding me, but I still felt like they were waiting for me. Waiting to catch me alone or for me to fall asleep."

Agent Nista has a history of difficulty sleeping and has often expressed his dislike for being alone.

Presley: "Is this a common fear of yours?"

Nista hesitates again, nods slowly. His eyes are unfocused and he's pulled his elbows and feet in closer to himself—signs of feeling vulnerable. This moment seems significant to him.

Nista: "I'd never thought too much about it before that but it came to me real suddenly and I didn't really know how to process it. It was a bit much. That was when Edmund came in."

Presley: "Do you think him finding you was deliberate?"

Nista: "Yeah. He came straight at me. Scared the shit out of me. And he stood up—you know he's two feet taller than me? I tried to kick him but it didn't work, neither did biting. I just went right through him. Then he touched me and the next thing I remember is Jack sitting next to me while I threw up."

Presley: "How did you feel after the incident?"

Nista: "I wasn't shaking anymore. My rib felt better."

Presley: "Did you feel safe?"

Nista: "Yes."

Presley: "You don't often feel safe."

Nista: "I thought it was because I was with Jack."

Presley: "What do you think Edmund's intention was at the moment of infection?"

Nista: "He wanted me to believe that my mother loved me."

Absolutely no hesitation that time. Very interesting—usually very reluctant to mention mother. Signal surveillance checked at a later time to confirm that Nista's mind had returned to its infected state at that moment. Impossible to know if he was lying. Other infected display consistent signals, beginning at same moment.

Presley: "And did you believe that your mother loved you?"

Nista: "At first. Then I didn't. I went back and forth a lot—couldn't make up my mind. But I knew that Jack did."

Presley: "Do you still believe that Jack loves you?"

Nista: "Yeah."

Presley: "Why do you think that Edmund wanted you to believe these things?"

Nista: "I don't know. I think he was helping me."

Presley: "There is a theory that the emotions you share with the others through the infection may actually be Edmund trying to communicate his true self, like telling you his name. What do you think of that idea?"

Nista: "Makes sense. Yeah. That's what it feels like."

Presley: "What makes it feel like that?"

Nista: "He doesn't scare me anymore because I feel like I know him. That just makes sense to me. Are we done?"

Interview terminated.

Nista did not leave immediately. He sat quietly, touching his bracelet as I made my notes. I asked if there was more that he wanted to talk about but he refused. However, he then made mention, unprompted, that Edwards had repaired his bracelet for him and left it for him this morning. The bracelet has a new strand in it that appears fairly fresh—Edwards. I asked Nista if he would like to discuss the significance of the bracelet or his relationship with Edwards. Refused and left.

Similarities noticed are that both interviewed infected were experiencing fear prior to the moment of infection and both described a feeling of being loved afterwards. Both were alone at moment of infection but Mott was not—confirm when Mott wakes. Both agree that Edmund's intentions were to be helpful but these answers can't be taken as genuine when the infected signal appears—answers regarding intention may be controlled. I don't know if I'm getting anywhere with this.

Reviewed camera surveillance regarding disagreement between Davies and Burkes. D. Burke has been using a bait program in an attempt to track potential hackers in the Torchwood system. Both Burkes insist that the program is perfectly safe while Davies insists that it has led to a security breach.

Davies claims that mission files and staff records were accessed by an outside source overnight. Burke insists that would be impossible through his program. Computer record backs up Davies's claim—records were accessed. Access tracked to a computer in John Radcliffe Hospital.

Davies hasn't looked beyond what files were accessed. Staff records show current addresses.

Security breached in headquarters control systems. Temple-Noble teleport activated and used at 0522 this morning. Camera surveillance between 0520 and 0550 have been deleted. Someone is here.

Alarm sounded.


	12. Chapter 12: Kevin

"Blue Horizon."

The voice that came floated through the entirety of Torchwood was calm and serene, as if Blue Horizon was some sort of lunch announcement, but the looks that passed between the others betrayed the peaceful codename. Ganbri and Annie were both checking their guns, Doug stood up quickly, brows locked together as his eyes quickly scanned the area. Nista grabbed the staff leaning against his desk and made eye contact, giving one quick nod to show that he was watching.

Kevin grabbed the nearest phone off the wall and pushed the code for Kel's lab.

The phone was answered almost immediately and Kel spoke quickly. "I see a Blue Horizon, but I don't yet see the stars. Blow out the candles. Be careful not to burn yourself."

"Yes, sir." Kevin hung up the phone and turned to the others, grabbing his own gun from his belt to make sure it was loaded. "They're inside but he doesn't know where. Spread out and search, quickly, and be aware that they may be armed."

"How the fuck did anyone get in here?" Doug asked loudly. "There's no way in except through the teleport."

"That means they were in one of our houses," Ganbri answered. His voice was quiet and hollow, but his eyes were something else. He looked a little frightened but, more than anything else, he looked angry.

Kevin wished he hadn't said it. He knew that Jack would likely figure that out on his own, but there was a possibility that he wouldn't. However rough things had been, at least it had been easy to get him to take his meds and go to sleep. Kevin could already hear him stalking through the house all night, setting traps and checking windows. The thought of an intruder in their home while he was trapped in a drug-induced sleep would cause anxiety for weeks after this.

Without another word, they moved out. Annie and Ganbri moved towards the west, while Kevin and Jack took the east, and Doug moved south, looking to find his sister to pair up with.

He waited until they were a good distance from the others before saying quietly, "It's going to be fine."

"I know," Jack answered quickly. His lips were pulling back over his teeth as they walked and he gripped the staff in his hands as if he had completely forgotten there was a gun on his belt. This was the kind of thing he was good at.

Torchwood's headquarters was massive, built for the organization that the Captain hoped to one day create, and they quickly moved past the inhabited zone. They only used a portion of the maze of hallways and rooms and there were plenty of areas that Kevin had never even been to, but Jack had played down here as a boy and knew every corner and hiding place.

One door at a time, they searched empty offices, labs, workshops, and rooms that could have been used for anything. The labs were the worst to search because they tended to have a lot of places a person could hide—supply closets, freezers, clean rooms, not to mention a multitude of shelves, countertops, and equipment that would be easy enough to hide behind.

And the further they searched, the further away they got from the rest of the team.

Jack pushed open a door to an unused medical lab and Kevin pointed his gun into the emptiness as it swung open. Immediately, he knew they'd found the right room.

The lab looked pretty clean, but he could see wrappers from opened equipment in one of the garbage bins and the door to the bathroom off to the side was ajar. He quickly gestured to Jack, pointing out what he saw, and the Alreesh slipped into the room on silent feet.

The bathroom was barely larger than a closet, with nothing inside but a toilet and a sink. There was no one inside, but there were paper towels in the garbage and the inside of the sink was wet. There was no one in the supply closet either but it was clear that there had been. The neatly stocked shelves had a few holes where supplies had clearly been taken, and other areas had been pushed aside or moved.

Jack gave him a look that sat between puzzled and concerned, so Kevin quickly checked what was missing. A stand for an I.V. drip, butterfly needle, saline solution, an oxygen tank and prongs, and a few other non-threatening items.

He turned back to Jack and mouthed, "Nothing dangerous."

Jack frowned and mouthed back, "Injured?"

Kevin shook his head. "Maybe sick?"

Jack suddenly stood up straight, the look in his eyes changing. He walked back out of the supply closet, still clutching his staff but looking a little less worried than before. Kevin followed him and watched as he checked the other doors in the lab a little less carefully.

Finally, Jack pointed towards the shower room and whispered, "No cameras."

Kevin stood to the side while Jack took control, positioning himself in front of the door and carefully pushing it open. There was nothing to be seen through just the open door. The walls stretched forward about four feet before curving, offering any patient privacy even with the door open. Around the corner, Kevin knew there would be a full sized bathroom, with a large tub and shower, as well as a bench for personal belongings.

Silence hung in the air and they waited.

Jack stepped in, staff at the ready. "James?" he called out loudly.

Seconds passed by too slowly.

"You know, hearing a stranger call your name is less comforting than you think it is."

Kevin hadn't been told very much about the man named James that they were supposed to be looking for, but he knew that he looked and sounded like the Doctor. And that was the Doctor's voice.

"I'll let you know right now that I'm not exactly a fan of guns but I do have one."

"We're not here to hurt you," Jack answered, carefully taking small steps through the doorway.

A low chuckle. "I've heard that one before."

"We're coming in."

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking echoed through the air.

" 'We'?"

"You don't think I'm stupid enough to search for someone who broke into Torchwood on my own, do you?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen if you have a stupid face yet or not."

Kevin stepped forward, leaning in through the doorway. "I'm part of Torchwood's medical team," he called out. "I know you didn't pick a medical lab to hide in for no reason. I could help you."

"I highly doubt that," James answered quietly. "I won't shoot you for coming for coming in, but keep your distance until I say otherwise. And leave your weapons at the door."

"You have a gun," Kevin blurted, frowning. Jack shot him a look that told him he shouldn't speak.

"Yes, and I'm outnumbered, cornered, and unwell. You're going to have to deal with it."

Jack set his staff aside, took the gun from his hip to leave on the floor, and rolled his shoulders back, apparently not bothered by going in unarmed. He still had his teeth, his weapon of choice.

Kevin felt a little less confident going in empty handed, hesitating. Jack looked back at him, making eye contact, eerily calm and still. This was what he was good at. Jack nodded his head slowly as he reached out—a silent promise of protection—and Kevin let him take the gun without resistance.

Jack called out another warning before they moved. They turned the corner and looked into the change room, and saw the man who called himself James. Kevin had expected to see someone who basically just looked like the Doctor, but the man he saw surprised him.

James had raided a linen closet and made himself a makeshift bed on the floor that he was sitting on, a laptop on the floor beside him. He had a saline drip in his arm and an oxygen tank on the floor on his other side. He'd turned it off, likely so that they wouldn't hear it, the prongs hanging from one ear, and it was easy to see that he was struggling without it. He was terribly pale with dark circles around his eyes and his lips were a startling shade of blue. Kevin could hear a rattling sound every time he took a breath, and his breaths were shallow and too far apart.

"Jesus," Kevin swore quietly. "Turn your oxygen back on."

James gave them an odd lop-sided smile, his lips tugging up at one corner and exposing his teeth. "You're sweet," he muttered in a sarcastic tone, but he pulled the prongs across his face again anyway. "So are everyone on the team members of the Lollipop Guild, or just you two?"

James turned the oxygen tank back on and it hissed to life. Kevin could see the relief on his face when he let his head rest back against the wall behind him and his arm dropped at his side. His right hand had a gun trained on them, but he was using his knee to support it. He was too tired and weak to even hold a gun up.

"He's five-six," Jack said, sounding defensive.

Five-five and a half, truth be told.

"Oh, you're right. I'm terribly sorry. That is quite impressive."

"You're not so tall yourself where you're sitting."

"What's your diagnosis?" Kevin interrupted them. Honestly, James wouldn't say a damn thing about Jack's height if he had any idea how dangerous he was.

"What's it look like?" James answered, dark eyes weary as he struggled for breath. "Lung cancer. Stage four."

Kevin swallowed. "Terminal?"

James nodded slowly. "Should be dead already."

Kevin couldn't help but shoot Jack a look. The Alreesh already had his chin turned slightly upward and his face turned slightly away. He was ashamed before Kevin had even had a chance to shame him.

James didn't miss it and that lop-sided grin returned. "What are your names?"

"Kevin Edwards, Medical Assistant," Kevin answered quickly. "And Jack Nista, Weapons and Combat Specialist."

James's eyes turned to Jack, inspecting him carefully. It was the same face that Kevin had seen the Doctor make when he was working something out. He was gleaning more information than they were giving him.

"Where's Rose Tyler?"

Jack frowned at him. "Check the cameras," he answered, gesturing to the laptop.

James continued watching them silently for a minute and Kevin wasn't sure if he was looking for something or if he was trying to catch his breath. It almost hurt to see how much work he put into each breath. God knew how hard he pushed himself to get this far down the Torchwood tunnels.

"Alright." Finally, James put the gun down on the floor. "Take me to your leader."

It took both of them to help James stand up. Kevin grabbed a wheelchair from the supply closet but James waved it away irritably and muttered something about dying on his feet. The first few steps were shaky and slow but, with each step, he looked a little more confident. James accepted Kevin's shoulder to lean on, Jack carried the oxygen tank, and somehow they kept moving.

Jack grabbed one of the hallway phones when they reached it to give the code that the intruder had been found and the situation was considered safe. He then announced that they were heading to the primary medical lab and assistance was needed, as well as the Captain's presence. Then they carried on with their slow progress down the halls.

"How'd you get recruited?" James asked after a few moments of silence.

"My place of work got overrun with aliens. My boss and another colleague died, then the building burned down," Kevin answered. "Apparently I impressed the team doctor and the Captain offered me a job."

James hummed in response and then turned to Jack expectantly.

Jack hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable, but he chose to answer. "Freed livestock."

James cocked an eyebrow. "Don't leave out any details, do you?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders a little. "I had nowhere else to go."

Kel was waiting for them in the medical lab, eyes bright and energetic. "I thought it might have been you," he said in a voice that sounded far too pleased. "We've never had a security breach before."

Kevin helped James to the nearest bed and he sat down on it with a sigh of relief that clearly showed how exhausted he already was. They kept the chatter to a minimum while James caught his breath and Kevin rushed around the lab, plucking equipment. Kel was on his computer, setting up a new patient record sheet and asking a few basic questions while Jack stayed off to the side, watching everything with cautious eyes.

Kevin had a handheld scanner out before anything else. It wasn't as accurate as some of the other machines, but it would give him a quick idea of what they were up against. The amount of black that appeared on the small screen very quickly brought his many hopeful ideas to a screeching halt.

James must have seen the change in his face. "Like shotgun spray, isn't it?" he muttered darkly.

It was. Worse even. Kevin could see large clusters of black in his lungs, but it had spread everywhere. The cancer was peppered in his lymph nodes, his chest, his neck, _everywhere_.

Kevin looked up at Kel, looking for guidance. "Dr. Presley . . ."

Accelerators weren't an option for cancer, and they were the best solution they had to most life threatening problems. They had other technologies and medicine that they'd gained access to through Torchwood's extraterrestrial friends, but they all took time. And it didn't look like James had the time.

Kel looked at the screen and a dark look took over his eyes. His lips pressed together, thinking hard.

"Ganbri," Jack said suddenly.

James head whipped towards him, his brows instantly locking together. "What did you say?"

"He's on the team," Jack offered quietly. "He has some healing abilities. He's not very good at it, but he might be able to at least help."

"I need Rose," James answered quickly, his voice suddenly very stern. "This stuff can wait. I need Rose and I need you to bring me whoever the hell makes the decisions around here."

Kel frowned at him slightly. "In your condition, there really is no time to delay."

"Look, mate, I've been through a lot in my condition and it hasn't killed me yet," James snapped back. "I don't know if you know what's been going on, but you're all in a lot of danger—"

"The Bad Wolf," Jack interrupted calmly. "We know. It wants Rose. We're going to stop it."

"Mighty confident, aren't you?" James scowled at him. "If Rose is here, the Bad Wolf might already know where she is. I've been keeping ahead of it but just barely, and it always seems to find me. If I found a way into Torchwood, I guarantee you that it can too."

Jack was already moving, but Kel turned to James with a suspicious look on his face. "You reacted to Ganbri," he said simply.

"What is he?" James asked in return.

Kel continued to watch the other man, looking carefully for anything that would give him information. "He's a Time Lord."

"That's impossible," James answered with a quick shake of his head. "Even if it wasn't, Time Lords can't just heal people. Is he a hybrid? Are you sure he hasn't he been lying to you?"

There was something in his voice that sounded almost frightened and Kevin didn't like to think what could frighten a man enough to ignore the cancer that was days away from killing him.

"Why does it matter?" Kevin asked.

James levelled him with a gaze that he had seen before—one that told him that something very important was happening. " 'Ganbri' isn't a name. It's a word. A Gallifreyan word that means a star that supports life."

"We know," Kevin answered quickly. "There are these people that call him the Star. He accidentally made himself a part of their religion. There's a whole mythology about him."

"Yes, well, other people have myths as well, including the Time Lords. And the Bad Wolf has been taking them seriously." James closed his eyes for a moment, his muscles tensing as if he were in pain, and he spent a moment just breathing. When he opened his eyes again, he looked worried and defeated. "I've been running from the Bad Wolf for a while now. I've seen it. I've talked to it. It taunts you and tries to get you to give up. It says things."

Kelevra looked as though he was holding his breath, his eyes intense and focused as he hung on every word. "What has it been saying?"

James took another deep breath. "If the ganbri is real—if it is what the Bad Wolf thinks it is—and we _lose_ . . . If the Bad Wolf gets Rose and does what it wants, none of us will have ever existed."

Kel leaned closer, his voice quiet. "And if it gets Ganbri?"

James looked Kel in the eye and answered in a voice that gave no room for doubt. "We'll wish that it had caught Rose instead."


	13. Chapter 13: James

Medical Assistant Kevin hurried from the room to recover the equipment that James had hidden away. The moment he was gone, James climbed off of the bed and took control of the computer, despite Dr. Presley's protests. Things moved a lot faster when he was already signed into the network and he was quickly absorbing information.

"Where did you get the Time Lord? How did you find him?" he asked. The staff records showed his full name as Ganbri James Noble-Mott. Noble-Mott? The photo had been recently updated with a footnote underneath, containing a link that led to another photo. It was a completely different person, just like he had regenerated.

"We didn't find him," Kelevra answered with perfect calm. "He played here as a boy. He's been a part of Torchwood since before it began again. I really think it's best to wait for the Captain to explain everything."

So Jack was still running the place. That made him feel that he was probably right about his suspicion of Lollipop 1. Alreesh name their children after both parents and, while Nista was, Jack was definitely not an Alreesh name. So Jack had a son that he actually kept in contact with these days—one close enough that they still lived at the same address according to staff records.

Lollipop 2 didn't reveal anything particularly interesting. Most of the others didn't either. Just regular humans with regular records. He cycled through the staff pages, looking for the red light, looking for the weak link.

Annabelle Temple-Noble. Another Noble. Why did they have two Nobles? Was it a coincidence?

"Who is this?" he demanded.

The doctor stubbornly shook his head. James glared at him and quickly typed in the doctor's name. Zumecki, also containing a photo of a previous body, but with very little information attached.

"Do you have files on consultants or people who've worked with before?"

"No."

 _Liar_. James turned again, ready to make it clear just how little patience he had, when the tiniest of beeps sounded.

James's heart stopped, his face falling. He looked down at the device on his wrist and didn't care that it also drew Kelevra's attention to it. It looked like a watch at first glance, but it wasn't.

It might already be too late.

"What does that do?" Kelevra asked, frowning at it.

"Let's me know when the ice cream truck is coming," James snapped back.

Camera systems. He'd seen cameras damn near everywhere he looked so there had to be access to live feeds somewhere. The Zumecki beside him offered no help, but also didn't stop him, and he found it quickly enough on his own anyway. He rushed through cameras, looking for signs of life. He found a few staff members, all moving, all wearing expressions of concern. Lollipop 2 was on his way back already with James's backpack in his hand.

"What's in the cells?" he demanded next, pointing his finger at a small camera scene that showed a thin, long-limbed figure. "What is that?"

He didn't expect an answer so he didn't really know why he bothered to ask. His lungs were starting to hurt and he realized how short of breath he'd become again. The device on his wrist beeped again and he swore under his breath.

The door opened behind him and he twisted in his seat to look. Lollipop 1 slid back into the room without a word and quickly found a corner to disappear in. Then none other than Captain Jack Harkness stepped through the doorway.

"Jack," he breathed, pulling himself to his feet.

He saw the way Jack smiled at him so quickly, but he didn't expect a hug. Jack's body knocked what little breath he had out of him, and his arms squeezed just to make sure. It wasn't until James let out a weak cough that Jack let go of him.

"It's good to see you," Jack said happily.

He barely knew Jack. He knew that he had only spent a short amount of time in his presence, but he couldn't help but feel relieved to see him. He took a couple of shaky, ragged breaths in, settling for a nod of acknowledgement in lieu of any speech for the moment.

"Sorry," Jack said quickly. "You look like shit."

And he felt like it. He took a couple more breaths and then reached out for a handshake to introduce himself properly, but his eyes saw something that took his breath away again.

Rose was standing in the doorway behind Jack. She had her hands clasped together, holding them up to her chin and half covering her mouth. Her eyes were huge and watery and he knew she was trying not to cry. He knew he looked so much worse than the last time she saw him. He knew that she must have wondered if she'd ever see him again.

She controlled herself, knowing better than Jack. She didn't launch herself at him or fling her arms around his neck. She stepped towards him, at an odd pace that was a barely restrained run. She lifted her arms towards him in what seemed a painfully slow way, and she allowed him to close the gap between them.

He wished he was stronger so that he could grab hold of her and squeeze her tight. He wished he could pick her up and spin her around like they did in the movies. He wished he could tell her exactly what she needed to hear so that she wouldn't think about how he looked. Instead, all he could do was hold her gently and try to not let the oxygen hiss into her ear.

"You made it back," she whispered.

"I made a promise."

She sniffed loudly in his ear and one of her hands came up to tangle its fingers in his hair. He closed his eyes and, for just a moment, shut everything out. He'd made it back to her. All those times that he thought he was facing the end and he'd told himself that he wasn't allowed to die yet, it was all just to get to this moment. As if it knew, he felt his heart slow down. The constant pain in his chest receded as his lungs suddenly stopped fighting so hard. With his eyes closed, he smelled her hair, felt her warmth, and felt peace in knowing that he'd made it back.

And then something beeped.

His eyes snapped open and he remembered how many people were in the room—how many things were left to do. It wasn't enough to have just found Rose. He needed to make sure she was safe. He needed to make sure that everyone was safe.

He needed to beat this thing.

"I think it's here," he asked quietly in her ear, his eyes scanning the different faces in the room. "Rose, you know how it works. You know what it's like. You know what it feels like when it reaches out to you. I need you to think about everyone who've met and tell me who it is."

Rose leaned back so that they could look each other in the eye. Her brows were locked together and he could see that a few tears had spilled while she was over his shoulder, but she didn't look scared.

"It can't be here," she answered. "It would have taken me by now. There's no reason for it to wait. And these people . . . they're not like that."

"What about the ganbri?"

She smiled a little, looking uncertain. "What about him? Ganbri's just a kid," she said, still looking at him like she was so confused. "He's quiet and sweet. He's not a danger to anyone."

Lollipop 1 in the corner shifted uncomfortably and, for the very first time, looked away. James had pegged him as one of those cautious types that _never_ stopped watching and never let his guard down, but he was looking away. Rose's opinion of Ganbri might not be accurate, and the look on Jack's face only strengthened that belief for him.

The door opened again and Lollipop 2 had returned with his bag.

James took the bag from his hands and tore it open quickly, pulling out every device in his arsenal. Void bombs, temporal disrupters, and telepathic blocks. Most importantly, he had his detector—a device he had built himself and had yet to give a proper name. It was linked with the device he wore on his wrist, beeping to give him a warning whenever the detector picked up on something.

"Has anyone been acting strangely today? Anyone? _Anything_ unusual?"

"Well, you broke in today. It's the first break-in this facility has ever had, so that's pretty unusual."

He glanced at Lollipop 2 and realized quickly that he had a point. What was his name? He should probably start trying to remember their names. The detector beeped again.

"Kevin's right," said the other small one, the Alreesh with the unusual name of Jack. "Nothing about today has been normal. Now what is that thing beeping about?"

"You know about the Bad Wolf, yes? And what it can do?"

"Yeah, I told them," Rose answered, still frowning.

"Good. Then you know it can control people and communicate with them, even across great distances." He held up the detector for them to see. "I discovered the telepathic wavelength it uses to send its signals and made this to alert me to them. If the device on my wrist beeps, that means it's picked up a communicative signal from the Bad Wolf. That means it's either nearby or it's controlling someone who is."

There were some worried looks passed around, a few murmurs that James didn't bother to listen to. He looked to the Alreesh in the corner with his arms crossed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall behind him.

The device beeped.

"You."

The others looked startled when James pointed a finger, but the Alreesh didn't. Jack Nista opened his eyes slowly, made contact, and spoke clearly.

"I'm infected," he said in a calm and steady voice. "But not by whatever you're afraid of. I can feel it when he sends his influence, and your device is beeping every time. You're not detecting the Bad Wolf. You're detecting me and Edmund."

"He's not dangerous," Kevin added quickly. "Edmund is gentle. He's been near Rose and all he did was say hello. Jack won't do anything to us."

A song he'd heard before. A song he even believed before.

But then . . .

He turned to Kelevra and glanced at the computer monitor. "Is that the thing in the cells?"

Kelevra nodded. "He's been living here for years."

"He's never hurt anyone," Kevin interrupted again. "He saved a kitten for God's sake. That's not the kind of thing you do if you want to kill everyone."

He ignored Kevin, ignored the intense gaze in the Alreesh's golden eyes, and turned to Captain Jack instead. "Where'd you get the name Edmund?"

"The Doctor called him Edmund the first time as sort of a joke," Jack explained. "But he got really excited about it. Once he started talking, one of the first things he learned to say was 'I am Edmund'."

He picked the name himself. He'd had access to Rose and the ganbri by the sounds of it and nothing bad had happened yet. The Alreesh readily admitted to being 'infected' and claimed he could feel its influence. The Bad Wolf was a very distinct being, and this didn't feel like it at all.

"Another one," he said in barely more than a whisper. He looked at the computer screen, eyes wide, as he flicked back to the camera viewing of the cells.

It was an odd looking thing—skinny and pale and disproportionately long. Its body didn't look natural. Maybe it wasn't.

"I've suspected there are more," he explained quietly. "You ever get that feeling that someone's watching you? All alone but you feel embarrassed or nervous or like someone is cheering you on? My detector has gone off before when I knew that the Bad Wolf was nowhere near me and I've wondered . . . maybe there's more than one Wolf. Maybe you have one."

He'd played with the idea before, desperately trying to find explanations or options. He suspected that the Wolves didn't usually inhabit bodies but that the Bad Wolf did because it had been created in one, or perhaps because it didn't yet know how to survive without one. He had thought that, even if his theory was correct, he would never see another Wolf in a physical body.

He looked over at the Alreesh again. If he was connected to Edmund, he'd know some truth about him, even subconsciously. He didn't seem even a little bit surprised to hear James's theory. It didn't even look like he was paying much attention.

"Okay, that's great, but James, now that we've established that we aren't in immediate danger," Rose interrupted his train of thought, voice a little shaky and nervous. "Can we please get you looked at properly? And stop talking for a while. Your lips are going blue."

She didn't know how long he'd been lost. She didn't know how much worse the cancer was. He still had several months left when she'd seen him last, but he'd burned that time away to the last days. He should shoo the others away. He should tell her that his time was done. Every time he closed his eyes these days, he knew he was at a risk of not waking up. But she didn't know that yet.

"Wait," Jack Nista said in a voice that was surprisingly firm for someone so small. "Just wait. I'm going to see if Ganbri can help."

The boy that he came back with a few moments later was, without a doubt, a boy. He may have been six feet tall and he may have had stubble on his chin, but James knew how to see a person's age in their eyes. Ganbri looked at him like he was nervous and even a little disturbed, shifting from foot to foot.

"Give them room," the Alreesh stated firmly.

The others exchanged nervous glances and wordlessly began to leave the room. Jack Nista even took Rose by the elbow to gently escort her out, muttering something about a stage fright effect.

Once the room was emptied, James looked up at the man's body before him and tried his best to smile. "I'm James," he said over the hiss of his oxygen machine.

"I'm Ganbri," he answered quietly. "My . . . my middle name is James."

"I saw that in your file. It also says you're a Time Lord."

"Yes sir."

"There are no more Time Lords."

"There are," Ganbri answered without hesitation. "Just not many."

An uncomfortable silence settled then and James could see the boy squirming again. He watched carefully and noticed that the boy's eyes stole glances at the gun that he'd left on the bed. He smirked and picked it up, tossing it to him. Ganbri jumped and looked quite startled, but caught it without trouble and held it like a professional.

"It's a pellet gun," he admitted. "Stings a bit. That's all."

Ganbri looked down at the gun in his hands, a smile slowly creeping across his face. After a moment, he looked up, noticeably more relaxed than before.

"James," he said quietly, eyes hopeful and frightened both at once. "I think you're my brother."

So it was true then. It was the only way he could be a Time Lord. And it was where the Noble part of his last name had come from, of course. Ganbri was the Doctor's son.

"I think . . . I'm probably more like your uncle," he answered slowly, frowning at the thought. He didn't particularly like that idea.

"No sir," Ganbri answered quickly. "I thought about it. As soon as I learned about you, I thought about it. My sister was born almost the same way you were, except my Banni is her only genetic—"

"Jenny." The name slipped from his mouth without thought. He'd thought Jenny was dead. Alive for less than a day and dead. She couldn't be if Ganbri knew who she was.

"That's right," Ganbri answered, smiling a little. "We've never called Jenny a clone or my aunt or anything like that. She's Banni's daughter—my sister—and always has been. So that makes you my brother." He suddenly stopped and frowned quite deeply. "Technically, it makes you Annie's brother as well. That's weird but kinda nice, I guess. It's gonna take some time to explain how the family is set up."

Annabelle Temple-Noble. She was on the staff list. James had broken into her home and used her teleport to get into Torchwood. He had found the name suspicious, wondering if she might be Donna's daughter, but he had been too afraid to look around the house to find out. What in the world would he have done if he came face-to-face with Donna?

He'd never really thought about what his genetic family tree actually was. It had never mattered before. This was . . . an unexpected development.

"How old are you?" Ganbri blurted, his age suddenly sounding very obvious in his voice.

James cringed but answered honestly. "Eleven."

"I'm twenty-seven," the boy answered quickly. "I guess that makes me your big brother then."

"Now hang on. I was born first."

"Doesn't matter. I'm still older." Ganbri suddenly grinned. "I always wanted to be a big brother."

Rose was right. He was just a kid. A sweet and naïve kid. The way the Alreesh had responded to that claim and the fact that he worked for Torchwood told James that he wasn't exactly innocent, but he was definitely not the threat that James had been expecting.

"Your friend seems to think that you can help me," he began again slowly. "He said you have some healing ability."

Ganbri cleared his throat and looked nervous again. "Yeah. I don't know if I can heal you fully. I used up all my energy not long ago to regenerate. I'm basically a walking battery for time energy but . . . I don't know how much I've got back yet."

"That's okay," James assured him. "Trust me, anything you can do will help."

"Okay."

He watched with interest as Ganbri prepared himself. He took several deep breaths, shifting his weight, shaking his hands. Slowly, James began to see a golden glow building up beneath his skin.

"Don't be scared," Ganbri muttered quietly as the glow began to intensify. "This is gonna feel weird but it shouldn't hurt."

The light suddenly erupted from his skin, fierce and fiery. James had to close his eyes to the blinding light as he felt Ganbri's hands grab hold of his arms. His touch burned. It wasn't hot enough to hurt, but it was enough to make squirm uncomfortably and remember exactly how it felt to experience all those deaths that weren't his.

His lungs were set on fire and the heat raced through his veins, scattering and spreading and burning away. It was an instant that felt like an hour but, quite suddenly, it was over.

He opened his eyes as the heat washed over him and saw Ganbri looking down at him with worried eyes.

"Did it work?"

He didn't hurt. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he didn't feel any pain. He willed his heart to quiet itself, not daring to get his hopes up yet, and grabbed for the scanner that Kevin had put down earlier.

The images it showed would have been disheartening to many, even devastating for some, but James felt himself grinning. There were still black clusters in lungs, and a few black dots outside of them, but far less than before. The cancer was still within him, still killing him slowly. But it wouldn't kill him today.

"Shit," Ganbri said quietly. "I can try again in a couple weeks. Maybe I can find a rift point or something to stock up on some energy faster. I'm sorry. I—"

"Thank you," James interrupted him, almost not wanting to talk just so that he could feel what it was like to take breaths without fighting. "This gives me time. This gives me months at least. Thank you so much."

Ganbri sat down on the foot of the bed, smiling a little. He looked very tired now.

James continued to scan himself over and over, checking the images repeatedly and hardly believing what he was seeing. He hesitantly pulled the oxygen tubing away from his face and took a few breaths. He knew enough to know that it was still harder to breathe than it would be if he was healthy, but it was almost good enough to not notice.

It dawned on him now that the stories might be true. The Ganbri, the Star, the Giver, whatever you wanted to call him—he was real. Somehow he would have to explain to Ganbri what a threat he was to the universe. Somehow he would have to tell everyone what this kid's beautiful gift might mean for them all. But it could wait for a moment.

After a moment, he glanced at Ganbri again, taking in how exhausted he looked. "You're very young to have regenerated," he commented. "How did you manage that?"

Ganbri pursed his lips, eyes wondering away and drifting out of focus. "I got shot," he said after a long moment. "Actually, it was my sister."

"Jenny shot you?"

"No."

James blinked. "We have another sister?"

Ganbri's brows locked together and he shifted in his seat. "No. Well, you don't. I don't either, I guess. Not anymore. She's dead." He stopped and stared at the wall for a moment, his hand absentmindedly coming up to scratch at his chest. "She was my Tokrah's daughter, so . . ."

He should have known to expect that no child of the Doctor's could be safe. He shouldn't have been surprised that Ganbri had already regenerated at twenty-seven, or that he had that haunted look in his eyes when asked about it. That man was reckless and neglectful as ever.

"What's your Tokrah like?"

"You probably know better than I do," Ganbri answered with a grim smile.

James frowned and gave him a questioning look, but the look in Ganbri's eyes only darkened.

"They'll be mad if I tell you," he said quietly. "I know it. They'll tell me I should have waited for them, so that they could handle it. I learned some real shit about my parents not long ago. Both of them. I guess, if you have Banni's memories, it's all stuff you'd know too."

James glanced nervously at the door as his detector beeped again. He'd been ignoring its beeping since he was told about Edmund, but suddenly he was aware of it again. There were Wolves about that liked to get into people's heads. And some wolves wore skins.

"My Tokrah's name is Harold Mott," Ganbri said in a near whisper. "But, before he was Harry, people called him the Master."


	14. Chapter 14: Ganbri

He didn't know what exactly he had expected. He supposed he expected something that Banni would do—eyebrow raising to the sky, a frown and continuously louder repetitions of 'what?', hands running frantically through hair. James just looked like he'd been shot.

For a long time, he sat there, quietly. His eyes were wider and blank looking and his lips moved slightly a few times but he didn't speak. After a moment, he picked up the oxygen tubing and attached it to his face again, taking deep breaths.

James cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, as if collecting himself. "Last I heard, the Master was dead," he said quietly. "Though coming back from the dead is a trick he's rather famous for."

The silence dragged on and Ganbri eagerly watched for the tiniest reactions from James. Ganbri could see his breathing change, the slight glimmer in his eyes and the way they kept moving. He felt a storm brewing behind a thick curtain, and James was trying very hard to keep it hidden. To another human, it might have worked, but Ganbri could feel the pressure.

Finally, James swallowed hard and took a quick breath. "Are you okay?" His voice sounded a little higher, a little uneven.

Ganbri blinked, uncertain. "I feel like I should be asking you that," he answered with an awkward chuckle. "What do you mean?"

"I know what kind of men they are," James answered quickly, eyes suddenly dark. "I know the way they think and the things they do. And I know that it's not normal for a boy your age to have regenerated. If you need help, you tell me. I'm human and old and sick, but I'm not useless and I'm _not_ afraid of them. If you need help, tell me and I promise I will help you."

Ganbri blinked again, feeling something ugly and dark stirring in the back of his mind. James knew everything about them from before Tokrah got better—before they forgave each other. He knew every sin, every lie, every hidden shame. Were they really so terrible?

"I didn't know what they were really like," he admitted. "And then I heard some things and I still didn't really know . . . And then I saw it." He hadn't wanted to say it out loud, but the words seemed to crawl out on their own. Once they were out, he felt better, and suddenly he was saying everything.

He told him about Kahlia and the Nightmare's War. He told him about the childhood of training to ensure his survival. He told him about the people who died and the people who were tortured. He told him about the monster that Banni unleashed on hundreds of people and the vicious scars it left when he turned it on his Tokrah. He told him about feeling an anger and a hatred that he couldn't explain.

And James sat quietly and listened.

He never gasped. He never asked why. He never denied a thing. And Ganbri began to feel that anger bubbling up inside him again as James's reaction, or lack thereof, reminded him just how much he'd been lied to and how thoroughly he'd been fooled. Suddenly, he was beginning to think that J.J. had been right in his anger after all—he was always smarter than Ganbri gave him credit for.

He didn't realize that he was losing his composure until James shifted forward and, with a deep breath, swung his legs off of the bed so that they could sit side by side. "Come on," he said quietly, holding his arm out. "I'm new to the brother thing but I know that this is part of it."

Ganbri didn't hesitate to lean against him so that James's arm could slip around his shoulders and squeeze him tight. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to slow his hearts and settle himself. He listened to James's ragged breathing and his singular heartbeat pounding in his chest and, without a thought beyond instinct, reached out for his mind.

 _You're young,_ he heard James's pitying thoughts whispering. _You're so young._

Connecting to a human always felt like trying to hold onto something slippery, like something he simply wasn't supposed to hold, but he could if he was gentle enough. He felt James notice his presence after a few seconds and, though Ganbri suddenly felt a stab of guilt for not asking for the connection, James did nothing to push him out. He felt a little bit like Banni, a bit like Donna, a tiny bit like Jenny, and even a little like Brody. It was strange and different, but it felt trustworthy.

"Maybe," James began again, quiet and hesitant. "The men you thought they were . . . were just the men that they were trying to be. And there's a difference between trying to be a better man and trying to trick someone."

Ganbri let the words sink in for a moment and they did make him feel better. He sat up straight again after a moment, letting James know that he could let go of him, and tried to pull himself together. He was supposed to be an agent of Torchwood—a soldier and defender of the Earth—and it wouldn't do to behave like such a child.

He looked at the man beside him and took in the details a little more closely. James had wrinkles around his eyes that Banni didn't have and hints of more at the corners of his mouth. There was grey hair in his sideburns, which were significantly shorter than Banni's, and peppering the edges of his hair all along to the back of his neck, with the odd silver strand here and there. He had a thin scar that started at the back of his ear, ran down his neck, and disappeared beneath his shirt. There was no scar on his forehead and all his fingers were straight and ringless, though his knuckles were heavily scarred. It seemed that his face's default expression was somewhat grim looking and his eyes made Ganbri feel sad to look at—they looked so burdened.

A human might think that Banni and James looked almost the same but, to Ganbri, the only features they shared were their noses and freckles. He didn't look like Banni, he didn't talk like Banni, and he didn't _feel_ like Banni.

And Ganbri didn't doubt it at all when James said he would help him.

"We need to get to work," James said after a moment of patiently sitting through Ganbri's observation. "What with the potential end of the universe and everything."

"Sounds like kind of a big deal," Ganbri answered with a nod.

"I don't know about a _big_ deal. I mean, Christmas dinner or the World Cup or adopting a puppy, those are big deals. I'd say this is slightly above average at best."

"You follow football?" Ganbri couldn't help it. "Do you play?"

James gave him a sideways grin, seeming to read his mind. "Bit too sick these days," he admitted, carefully getting onto his feet and picking up the portable oxygen tank. "Assuming we don't die, we save the universe, and my lungs don't give up on me, I might be able to teach you a thing or two. Now, grab my bag, would you?"

Ganbri did as he was told and followed James from the room. James began with long, swift strides but his lungs seemed to quickly disagree with him. He walked a little slower, lips parting a little to catch his breath, but he held his head high.

The others were waiting just down the hallway, standing around and doing nothing but shifting awkwardly and waiting. James didn't address any of them. He walked straight to Rose, the expression on his face setting into something harder, and took her hand.

He turned to Jack, nodding his head slightly. "I think you know who I want to talk to," he said quietly.

Jack nodded in return and turned to the team. "Presley, with me. Everyone else, back to work. I'll let you know when we have something to talk about."

Ganbri didn't care if he'd been asked to join or not, he did anyway. Jack shot him a look like he was going to scold him but Ganbri quickened his pace to walk beside James and that seemed enough. It didn't take a genius to know that, at least for this moment, James was calling the shots. Jack still looked at him like he was a little annoyed, but he chose not to say anything about it.

"Professor Mott fell unconscious yesterday after telepathically linking with Edmund," Kel stated as they walked. "Edmund has told me that he will wake up, though I can never be certain that he understands what he's saying."

"That's fine," James answered.

Rose was looking at him with a worried expression, gripping his hand tightly as they walked. "Are you sure you're up for this now?" she whispered to him quietly. "You just got back on your feet. You haven't slept. You haven't eaten."

"Information is key here," James responded quickly. "Sharing it is the first priority. Once Jack can get his team working, I can rest."

Rose's face didn't lose the worried expression, but she nodded and kept walking.

When they reached the right door, everyone froze. A few uncomfortable glances were exchanged and Ganbri could tell, even without reaching out telepathically, that James was reconsidering his decision to deal with this now. He wanted to run—Ganbri could see that in his eyes—but his expression hardened and, with an irritated grunt, he grabbed the door handle.

Banni was sitting in a chair beside Tokrah's bed. He looked half asleep but his eyes snapped wide open the moment James stepped through the door. Ganbri saw his father instantly bristle, every muscle in his body visibly tensing, and James didn't appear much more relaxed.

"My bag, please," James said before Banni had a chance to speak and held his hand out. Ganbri quickly handed him the bag and watched nervously as James put his oxygen tank down so that he could dig through it.

"James, I believe you and Doctor Noble have already met," Kel offered in the tense silence.

"Briefly," James answered sharply and pulled out the odd device he had been using earlier. Without another word, he held it out towards Tokrah's resting body.

"What is that?" Banni hissed, attempting to take it from James's hand. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making sure he's not going to kill us if he wakes," James snapped irritably, holding the device out of reach.

The device began to beep and, for a second, Ganbri thought all hell was about to break loose between his father and James, but James just scowled at the machine and did nothing.

"How did you get here?" Banni asked, crossing his arms. "How did you find us?"

"I'm clever," James answered simply without looking up, pushing a few buttons on his device. "And you haven't tried very hard to hide."

The machine stopped beeping and James lowered it. He spent a long moment staring down at Tokrah's sleeping form and the muscles in his face moved in a hundred subtle ways. Ganbri could feel that storm brewing again, emotions stirring and threatening to spill out of their carefully crafted containment. Banni watched him like a cornered animal, frightened and baring its teeth.

"How many relapses has he had?" James asked so quietly that it was barely above a whisper.

"None," Banni answered almost angrily.

"Honestly now."

"Not once," Banni answered again, his voice a little stronger. "The drums are gone. He's better now. He's a good man and a good father."

It was showing, slipping through the cracks in small ways. Ganbri saw James's lip tremble ever so slightly and his eyes glimmered with a thin layer of moisture. Ganbri could hear the questions spilling clumsily out of his mind. What happened? How was it possible? Was he like he was before? Why did he say such things? Why did he die? How was he back?

It was a moment of weakness that he knew only he and Banni could perceive—maybe James himself didn't even know it had shown. But then James took a deep breath and straightened his spine, and his face turned to a steel mask.

"It's tricky with the interference from Edmund but, as far as I can tell, he hasn't been touched," James said, his voice returning to a matter-of-fact tone. "At least not by the Bad Wolf. I don't know what kind of hold that thing out there has on him, but it seems different."

"How do we know it hasn't touched you?" Banni asked immediately.

"Because if it had, I would have already taken Rose and your son while you were in here sleeping."

The venom in James's voice did not go unnoticed and Ganbri immediately heard the snarl of the Beast in the back of his head. Banni stepped forward quickly, face twisted in anger and teeth bared.

"You listen to me—"

"Banni, don't!" Ganbri interrupted loudly. "Don't start fighting with each other! You're family!"

"Ganbri, please don't," James muttered darkly, his eyes hard and fixed on Banni.

"No, I'm not letting you two do this," Ganbri answered stubbornly. "I just saw what happens when families start to hate each other and now I have one less sister. Banni, you haven't seen him in over thirty years and the first thing you want to do is fight with him? You're supposed to be his _father_."

He hadn't really expected his words to have much of an impact but they did. Banni was blinking at him in shock. Ganbri glanced about and Jack and Rose were looking at him the same way. Kel was smiling, as always.

"Ganbri," Banni began. "I don't know what he's told—"

"I never said you were my—he came up with that idea on his own."

"If Jenny is my sister then James is my brother," Ganbri blurted out quickly. "I don't care what you say, that's the truth of it. That makes you his father."

Banni's mouth fell open. "Are you kidding? He looks like he could be _my_ dad!"

"I don't look _that_ old."

"You've got grey!"

"And you've got fat. What's your point?"

"I don't care!" Ganbri shouted over them. "You're both gonna suck it up and be fucking grown-ups! We've got enough shit going on and I'm not going to let you ruin the only _good_ thing that's come out of it!"

A moment of stunned silence followed. James's wide eyes were staring at the floor in complete and utter disbelief and Banni was silently fuming. Ganbri didn't know how to finish or move on, so he turned to the other three in the room and made a face to urge them to say something.

Jack cleared his throat. "Kid's right," he said simply.

"Does that make Miss Tyler your daughter-in-law, Doctor?" Kel blurted.

Banni, James, and Rose's eyes all shot wide open and everyone began talking at once.

"We're not married," Rose answered quickly.

"He's _not_ my dad!"

Jack smacked Kel hard in the shoulder. "Why do you _always_ have to do that?"

"Ganbri, you should go find J.J. and leave us to deal with this."

James rounded on Banni, scowling. "Don't send him off by himself!"

"And who do you think _you_ are to tell me how to handle my son?" Banni shot back.

"Well, apparently, he's my little brother so—"

"Big brother, actually," Ganbri interrupted.

"Hey, Lahrre."

James suddenly let out a yelp unlike anything he'd ever heard Banni make and leapt away from the bedside. Ganbri didn't see exactly what had happened, but Tokrah's hand was stretched out towards him.

"Harry!"

Banni flew to the bedside, immediately on his knees with Tokrah's hands clasped between both of his. Tokrah was blinking sleepily around the room, pausing on James with a confused expression. He looked back and forth between Banni and James, frowning with eyes slightly out of focus.

"Is it my birthday?"

Jack laughed. Banni didn't.

"Don't you even think about it," James hissed, quickly sitting down in Banni's vacant chair with a hand on his chest and suddenly struggling to catch his breath.

"Ah, Professor Mott," Kel said in his most pleasant voice. "Allow me to introduce you to James. We've just established that he's your stepson. Congratulations."

Jack hit Kel in the shoulder again. "Seriously?"

The sudden strain to breathe was painfully clear in James's voice when he quickly protested. "No. No, no, no, I'm drawing the line there."

"So am I," Banni agreed quickly.

"Oh, no, it's quite clear," Kel continued. "If James is Ganbri's brother, that makes him your son and, thus, Harry's stepson. Or just son, I suppose, considering you refer to Jenny as your daughter."

"Presley!" Jack snapped.

"James, they're just words," Rose was muttering frantically. "It really doesn't matter."

James had gone several shades whiter and was clutching the oxygen tank his hand tightly. "We're not talking about this," he said breathlessly. "This just isn't happening."

"Ah, the family has grown," Kel said happily. "Happy day."

Banni pointed an angry finger at the Zumecki. "There are words for people like you," he snarled. "And most of them are not fit for me to say in front of my son."

Kel tilted his head and smiled serenely. "Which one, pet?"

Ganbri didn't know what Banni had intended to do to Kel when he got up because James got there first. After Jack had managed to separate them, he sent Kel from the room to nurse his bleeding lip and sat James back down on the chair with firm instructions to stay there. He suddenly looked just as ill as he had when they first found him, ghostly pale and fighting to breathe. Ganbri hoped that he'd be okay once the excitement had passed.

Now they were all sitting in awkward silence, with James gasping for air, Rose fretting over him, Banni barely containing his fury, and Tokrah just looking at them all in a complete state of confusion.

"I mean, you could have just called him a troll," Jack said after a moment. "You kinda opened the door for him, didn't you?"

"Here's an idea, Jack. How about we just stop talking about it?" Banni growled.

"Yes, please," James agreed quickly, still sounding breathless.

"Alright," Jack switched his tone to that of the Captain and crossed his arms. "First of all, Harry, glad to see that you're finally awake. I'm sure the Doctor will want to examine you to make sure your health hasn't been impacted and James also needs to be sent back to Dr. Presley for treatment and a little T.L.C. but we need to figure out where we stand first. We need everyone to give us whatever information they have on the Bad Wolf or anything possibly related. We were hoping you might have learned something in your link with Edmund."

"I did," Tokrah answered without hesitation. "It's all a bit confusing. Edmund was clearly trying to communicate something to me but it's very hard to understand. I think I managed to work out some of it though."

No one else said anything and Jack gestured for Tokrah to go on.

"The images he gave me leads me to believe that Edmund isn't the only creature of his kind. There are several similarities between him and what we know of the Bad Wolf."

"Yes," James added eagerly. "From what I have learned about him, I think he and the Bad Wolf are the same or, at least, a similar species."

Tokrah nodded slowly and continued. "He also showed me that they go to great lengths to protect themselves from us."

Rose's eyebrows locked together. "From _us_? What can we possibly do to _them_?"

"I don't entirely know," Tokrah admitted. "But the image he gave me was of people in hazmat suits."

"Like we're a disease?" Ganbri asked.

"Like we can infect _them_ ," Jack suddenly chimed in, his eyes widening. He looked as if he was piecing something together but he didn't say anything else.

"But Edmund has willingly exposed himself to us for years," Banni added next. "He wouldn't do that if we were dangerous to him."

"Unless he's got a hazmat suit," Rose cut in, sounding a little too excited. "He might still be protected."

Ganbri looked at his Tokrah to find he was being stared at. Tokrah's eyes looking at him intensely, unmoving, seeming to see straight through him. He took a few deep breaths, sighing.

"I don't know what it all meant," he admitted quietly. "I don't know how much of it was my mind and how much of it was his."

"What do you mean?" Banni frowned. "What did you see?"

Tokrah's eyes didn't move away and Ganbri began to feel uncomfortable under the heavy gaze. "I think one of them was exposed to us. I don't know. If that's what he meant, then maybe he meant the Bad Wolf?"

"Well, I did absorb it," Rose added in, suddenly looking very uncomfortable in her own body, hands fidgeting and tugging at the hem of her shirt. "Did he mean that I infected the Bad Wolf with . . . with _myself_?"

"I don't know," Tokrah answered, finally moving his eyes away. He looked down into his hands, frowning.

"He was telling us we can kill it," Jack spoke up, voice firm and certain. "If the Bad Wolf infects someone, they die, right? What if Edmund is telling us that if the Bad Wolf gets infected by someone, it can die too? It's a two-way street. This is biological warfare and we're the virus. We figure out how it works, we infect the bitch, and we can all argue about technicalities in the family tree over some beer in our still-existing universe."

"Oh."

It was quiet, but everyone heard it, and all eyes turned to James.

James looked up to see them all looking at him expectantly and he took a deep breath. "Shit."

Jack waved a hand towards him irritably. "Wanna share with the class, James?"

James cringed, seeming to shrink down into his seat. "Well . . . you see, it's not good either way and, knowing these two," he gestured to Banni and Tokrah. "It wouldn't be an option anyway. Well, I mean, it's _not_ an option. It's too risky and, even if it wasn't, we can't—"

"What is it?" Rose asked him eagerly. "James, whatever it is, it can't be more important than what's going to happen if we don't stop this thing. Just tell us."

James paused to take several deep breaths, fingers twisting the oxygen tubing nervously., He looked to Banni and Tokrah, eyes so heavy and burdened that they hurt to look at.

Then he looked to Ganbri, and it looked like every word caused him pain when he began to speak. "There was an old myth on Gallifrey . . ."


	15. Chapter 15: Rose

Rose sat and listened as information spilled forth from James. She forgot sometimes how much he knew, how many centuries worth of memories he had. She forgot sometimes how much he kept hidden.

He'd taken a liking to Ganbri quickly, she could see that. He glanced at him as he spoke, looking uncomfortable. It was the same way he looked at Tony whenever he asked about James's health—wanting to answer but not wanting to frighten him.

'Ganbri' was a Gallifreyan word for a star that supported life, like the Earth's sun. There were stories all over the universe, varying a little everywhere but staying true at the root, of a living ganbri. Most stories painted it as a savior. Some stories thought it was a conqueror or a villain. And some claimed that the ganbri was a weapon.

The Time Lords thought it was all three.

Ganbri was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I fought on Godforge," he said quietly, like it was a secret. "The Nightmare had enslaved the colony and I led the rebellion that drove her off. Then I found a way onto her ship and . . ." He scratched at the back of his neck, looking terribly awkward. "I had an army an everything."

A savior and a conqueror. Rose's eyes widened in surprise at the admission. Despite his physical appearance, everything she'd seen of Ganbri so far had told her that he was mild-mannered and even a bit shy. It was hard to imagine him fighting a battle, let alone lead one.

"People have been doing that since the universe began," the Doctor cut in sharply. "It doesn't mean anything. History is littered with saviors and conquerors."

"Yes," James agreed. "But history is not littered with people who, as Ganbri himself put it, are walking batteries for time energy."

"All Time Lords absorb time energy!" Ganbri protested loudly.

"No, it's different," Harry answered. He was rubbing at his temples, eyes closed and face tense. "We absorb time energy like a food source or like breathing air. Our bodies take in what they need and then stop. You don't. There's a limit to what we can absorb before it damages us, just like over-filling a stomach or over-inflating lungs. For you—"

"There's a limit to what I can absorb too."

Harry levelled his son with a look that showed he didn't appreciate being interrupted and spoke in a firm voice that made it clear he wouldn't be interrupted again. "There's a limit to what you can _hold_ , and even that has grown with time. If any other Time Lord absorbed energy like you do, they'd burst. They'd die. For you, it just spills out when it's too much."

"They're like balloons, Ganbri," Jack offered up, using his hand to mimic a balloon expanding and then popping. "You're like . . . a bucket?" He frowned and looked to Harry for confirmation.

"More like a river," Harry's voice was still grim but Rose caught a hint of a smile when he looked Jack. "A river can flood and overflow, even damage or destroy the land around it when it does, but the river keeps flowing."

"And, most importantly, a river can be used to generate power. You were right when you called yourself a battery."

As he spoke, James looked at Ganbri in a way that Rose wasn't used to seeing, eager and hurting and surprisingly open. In the short time that James had been at Torchwood, he had made it clear to everyone that he had his own plans—he had not come there to be told what to do and he didn't care what they thought about it. But he was different with Ganbri. They'd known each other for thirty minutes and she could see that he cared what Ganbri thought of him. She wasn't really sure what to make of it.

"The foundation of what the Bad Wolf wants is to exist," James explained carefully, holding eye contact with Ganbri. "It wants to exist everywhere, in every universe, every dimension, every moment of time and every point of space. It says it needs Rose to be able to use its full power, the plan being to bring everything in existence back to a single point because, apparently, that's faster than trying to spread out everywhere."

Jack scoffed. "Kids."

James ignored the comment and kept speaking as if no one else was in the room. "The legends on Gallifrey talk about a ganbri seeding the void—like connecting the universes by filling the emptiness between them. If the Wolves are born from time energy, you could be used as a conduit, absorbing and pouring time energy endlessly into the void. The Bad Wolf could make more Wolves and infect them while they're young, making them extensions of itself. Its power would be constantly increasing and spreading. It could infect every life form in every universe so quickly that there would be nothing we could do to stop it."

Ganbri was staring back him, eyes wide and full of surprise. "But . . . but I couldn't do that."

"The Bad Wolf could," Harry answered him quietly, hands steepled in front of his mouth. "You . . . wouldn't really get a choice in the matter."

Rose watched as Ganbri's body began to stiffen one muscle at a time. "What happens to all the people?"

This time the Doctor answered. His voice sounded like he had gravel in his throat, cutting him up with each word, and the look on his face made him look like he was about to throw up.

"Their bodies would still be there," he said, eyes staring hard at the floor. "And the best thing we could hope for is that their consciousness would be gone. Otherwise, everyone will be trapped inside themselves, without any control over anything they see or do."

He cleared his throat and fidgeted uncomfortably. For a moment, Rose thought he must have been remembering how frightening and terrible it was to see the possessed Ood on Krop Tor—wonderful, peaceful beings who lost all control of themselves and were forced to murder the people around them. But then she saw the way he glanced at Harry, with dark eyes and a set jaw that she still recognized as they face he wore when thinking of bitter memories. James still made the same face sometimes.

The room was silent for a long moment until Jack clicked his tongue. "Guess we really dodged a bullet with Edmund then."

"No shit!" Ganbri barked.

The anger that flared up in him was so sudden that Rose jumped. James jerked back a bit in his seat and she noticed even Jack seemed to jump a little bit. The only people who didn't seem shocked were Ganbri's parents—the Doctor was staring at the floor again, taking slow breaths.

Harry looked at Ganbri with a hard frown on his face. " _Ganbri_."

"Sorry," Ganbri said quickly, still with a sharp edge to his voice. "No shit, _sir_."

" _That_ is not funny," Harry scolded firmly. "This situation is stressful for _everyone_ and disrespecting your uncle is _not_ how we are going to find solutions."

Ganbri deflated in his seat, suddenly looking much, much younger than his body claimed he was. "I know," he said timidly. "Sorry, sir."

"What's the other half of this?" the Doctor asked suddenly, his eyes tearing away from the floor to look at James. His arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes were hard, but he at least put an effort into trying to _sound_ like he was open to suggestions. "You reacted when Harry mentioned the possibility of a person infecting the Bad Wolf. You want to use my son as a weapon?"

"I already said that it's not really an option."

"What do you mean?" Ganbri asked eagerly. "Can we?"

" _No_ , we can't." James put a hand on Ganbri's shoulder and turned to look at the Doctor as he spoke, scowling. "The risks are too high. If we're wrong, it wouldn't just mean handing Ganbri over to be a personal slave to the Bad Wolf, it would be handing every being in creation to be used as a puppet."

Harry looked back and forth between James and the Doctor and scoffed, rubbing at his temples again. "The idea is that we could use you as a conduit to direct a strong flow of time energy at the Bad Wolf, and hopefully overwhelm it," he explained in what was nearly a groan. "We infect the Bad Wolf with _you_ , and fill it till it bursts."

Ganbri leaned forward eagerly. "I can do that."

"Over my dead body!" the Doctor hissed from his corner.

"We're not doing it," James agreed quickly. "It's way too risky. It's just an idea and we have no way of knowing if it would work."

"Then we ask Edmund!"

"Edmund struggles to tell us if he wants fish for dinner or a fucking blanket," Jack added sharply. "We can't trust him to answer a question like that _accurately_ , even if we're trusting that he'd tell the truth."

Ganbri growled in frustration. "I think we've established pretty clearly that Edmund doesn't want to hurt us or he would have done it already."

"I need everyone to calm down," Harry said, but his words were drowned under the rising voices of the others.

"It's the _universe_ at stake, Ganbri," Jack argued.

"It's all the universes actually. Which is why it's so important that we do it."

"We'll come up with another plan," James was frantically trying to divert Ganbri's attention back to him, trying to calm him.

"Oh, yes, come up with more impossible plans that get my son all riled up for a suicide mission, why don't you?"

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. "The lot of you!" The room fell into sudden silence and Harry's eyes moved from one face to another with an angry glare. It wasn't until that moment that Rose noticed the hint of blood beneath his nose. " 'How's your fracture, Harry?' Oh, fine, thanks for asking. Bit of a headache though. Wouldn't mind a cup of tea. I'm really just glad that I didn't wake up to something ridiculous like a room full of people screaming at each other, because all that emotion flying around might really fuck with me!"

The stunned silence drew out for another moment until Ganbri cleared his throat and handed Harry a box of tissues from the shelf beside him. "So how you feeling, Dad?"

Harry made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a scoff and snatched the box from Ganbri's hand.

"I'll just go put on the kettle then."

Ganbri slid out of the room so silently that it was hard to believe he even let his feet touch the ground. As Harry held a tissue to his bleeding nose, both Jack and the Doctor were exchanging nervous glances like they weren't sure what to do. When Rose looked to James, he looked like a deer in headlights.

"Alright," Jack rubbed his hands together and shifted awkwardly. "Unless anyone has any other information they think is important or relevant to the case, we'll call that an end to this meeting. I'll inform the rest of the team, we'll all try to come up with some ideas, and we'll regroup later."

"Yes, thank you, Jack," Harry grumbled, already tossing a soaked tissue into the bin and grabbing another.

James still seemed a little too stunned to move so Rose wound up reaching out and taking hold of his hand. With a couple of gentle tugs, he seemed to come back to himself and got up.

Declan had already had the room set up for Rose restocked to suit two. There were clean clothes folded and sitting on the end of the bed. Nothing fancy—a pair of jeans and a green shirt—but that was all James really ever needed. There was even a set of pyjamas and a pair of generic grey slippers at the bed side.

James whistled at the sight of it. "Man's organized," he muttered. "When do you suppose he had the time to do that? I've not even been here that long."

It wasn't until he removed the tubing from his face and set down the oxygen tank that he looked around the room and mentioned his bag. They'd left it in the sleeping quarters with the Doctor and Harry. Rose assured him they'd go back for it later, after he'd been taken care of.

As ever, he was resistant. All he wanted to do was sit on the bed side and scribble notes. Everything was stressful to him at the moment and the only way he kept going was to keep moving. She knew him well enough to know that the thought of stopping now was scary. If he stopped, if he took a shower and a nap and rested like any normal human being would, everything would catch up with him. Old habits die hard, she supposed. Even ones that were formed by someone else.

"Well, _I'm_ going in the shower," she announced after another failed attempt at getting him to relax.

He muttered something in return without looking up from the notebook in his hand.

"James."

"I heard you."

" _James_."

He looked up at her and she grinned at him—her playful grin that always managed to at least get a smile out of him. And, after, a few seconds, his face softened and he did smile.

"We've got a little time right now," she said, lifting her feet up one at a time so that she could pull her socks off. "We could pretend it's like a hotel—pretend we're on holiday for a little bit." He was shaking his head at her but his smile had widened a little and he hadn't yet been able to look away. "Why don't we spend just one hour—just _one_ _hour_ —being normal people who wash their hair and give each other shoulder rubs and bitch about what a long week it's been? And then we can go right back to the terrifying apocalypse stuff."

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the notebook in his lab for a moment as a grin overtook his smile. "An hour," he said thoughtfully. "You promise?"

Rose's grin broke open wider and she held her hand out, with her pinkie extended. "Pinkie swear."

With one last, exaggerated roll of his eyes, James reached forward and locked his little finger around hers. She held on tight and gave a pull, bringing him to his feet and making him trail after her.

She tried not to react too much when she watched him undress. Perhaps he didn't notice it because, for him, it had been months since they last parted but he had lost a significant amount of weight. She could easily see his ribs and his hip bones protruded more than ever. She could even see the shape of his sternum beneath the skin. When she looked down, she could see reddened areas on his feet that she was pretty sure were from frost bite.

The minute the hot water hit him, she saw the way his face changed. He was exhausted. He was tired and hungry and sore. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his chest, and just stood there for a moment, letting the water blast him in the face.

"If I sit down, what are the chances that I'm actually going to achieve anything in here?" he asked after a moment.

"I'll help you."

She'd barely finished saying the sentence before he put his shoulder against the shower wall and started sliding down it. She shifted and moved with him, coming to a stop in the bottom of the tub behind him with her knees on either side of his thin frame and his back against her chest. She put her arms around his shoulders, letting her hands sit on his chest, and let him rest like that for a while.

"I'm glad you're okay," she whispered in his ear.

"Me too," he confessed with a half hearted chuckle. "There were a few times that I thought . . ." His voice drifted off into silence. She stared at the reddened tips of his toes and didn't ask him to finish.

"Let me wash your hair before you fall asleep and trap me here."

He sat up a bit and let her hands guide him. With his height, it was a little tricky to do, but with a few jokes and awkward shifting here and there, she figured out how to make it work.

"Are you going to tell me about Harry?" she finally asked as she lathered his hair.

He paused a moment before answering hesitantly. "Tell you what about him?"

"The Doctor told me that they've known each other for a long time," she explained carefully. "He said he used to be called the Master, but he said it like he expected me to have some big reaction. He didn't say anything afterward, but I could tell he was surprised. And then, the way you looked at him. . ."

"You know that I don't really know him."

"I know. But you can't tell me that means that you don't feel anything about him."

He sighed. "Rose—"

"If it was me and some bloke, you'd want to know," she interrupted. "Besides . . . the universe is at stake and all that."

He chuckled quietly. "That's not jealousy I hear, is it?"

"Shut up and just tell me."

"I can't very well shut up _and_ tell you, can I?"

"James!"

He chuckled again but it quickly faded. He was quiet while she rinsed his hair and, for a moment, she thought he wasn't going to tell her anything.

"They were friends when they were very young," he began quietly. "They lived near each other, played together as boys, went to school together. Their whole childhood, they were practically tied together at the hip."

"So he's . . . he's a proper Time Lord then, yeah?"

"Yeah," he sighed again, too deeply this time and causing himself to cough a few times. "I don't know how he's alive. Don't ask me."

"So they mean a lot to each other?"

"Yeah."

"Are you—Well, do you . . . do remember the Doctor, you know, _liking_ him?"

He scoffed. "Well, not exactly but I'm not terribly surprised that they got together. I'll put it that way." He shook his head. "They're a bit . . . There were times when they were ready to kill each other but they'd rip the head off of anyone else who suggested it."

He told her a little more, sometimes falling quiet for long periods of time, sometimes talking quickly as though he were excited about it. He was very vague when it came to the Master's crimes, usually not admitting anything more than that they were terrible and that people died.

"He was so sick though," he would always say whenever he got close to the dangerous topic. "Really, Rose. People didn't understand that about him. He was never a bad person."

Eventually he came to his last memories of the Master. She noticed how often he made sure to include that it was the _Doctor_ who experienced it, felt it, thought it. She couldn't see his face with his back to her, but she knew his eyes had that glazed over, faraway look as he remembered. And then he would mention the Doctor to remind himself to come back.

It didn't help when he came to the end of his story, with the Master bleeding in the Doctor's arms and refusing to regenerate. He fought it. She had been running her hands over his back and she felt him tensing, felt the odd tremble, heard the way his voice wavered. And then he forgot to say that it was the Doctor.

"He looked me right in the eye," he said miserably. "Like he . . ."

She leaned forward when he didn't finish the sentence, wrapping her arms around his body and holding onto him tightly. "It's okay," she said softly, resting her cheek against the back of his shoulder. "He didn't mean it. Obviously, he didn't mean it."

He'd be irritated about this later, she knew, but at least he had his face turned away. She felt him tremble and listened to his irregular breathing, a sniff here and there. It only lasted a minute, but it was a minute that he would loathe. She began to wash his back like nothing had happened and, after a couple more minutes of calming himself, he was able to move on from it.

"According to Ganbri's logic, I have two sisters," he said, voice still a little thick.

"Donna's daughter, right?"

"Annie, he called her."

"I've met her." Rose smiled a little. "You'll like her."

"I hope so," he admitted somewhat nervously. "The other is Jenny—someone else that I thought was dead. She's . . . well, she's like me in some ways."

It was nice to talk. It was so nice to just stop and talk to each other about things that didn't involve survival. It was nice to just feel his skin against hers. They'd been running for so long that she'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

After a while, the chatter died down and she could feel him growing heavier against her. With some effort, they both managed to get back on their feet without anyone slipping or injuring themselves, and Rose was leading him to bed. James would normally make a bit of fuss and mutter something about being babied but he always secretly enjoyed being taken care of when he was unwell. And he'd had several months of being unwell for her to catch up on.

She climbed into bed with him, despite it barely being past noon, and nestled against his chest. She could hear his lungs working with her ear pressed against him, and it brought tears to her eyes when she heard how much better they sounded. He ran his fingers through her air, muttering a comment once in a while, and she listened to his heart slow down as he drifted off to sleep.

Eventually she slid away, careful not to wake him, and dressed herself. She hoped he would sleep all day but knew that he probably wouldn't. She supposed it might not be so bad as long as she managed to make him eat something when he woke. He desperately needed to put some weight back on.

She sat at the foot of the bed and watched him for a while. His breathing sounded pretty clear but he would still struggle if he moved onto his back, so she carefully slid the oxygen tank's tubing back onto his face and he slept a little more soundly. If Ganbri was able to help him again once he'd absorbed some more time energy, there was hope that the cancer might be gone entirely. There was a chance he could be healthy again.

What in the world would they do with themselves after all this madness was over and they were expected to go back to normal lives? Would James take his newfound role as a brother seriously and want to stay? Would he want to take them back to their world? If his cancer was gone, would he want children? End of existence aside, there was an awful lot of developments in the last few hours to consider.

James slept for nearly three hours before someone knocked on the door and it startled him awake.

"Bloody hell, what time is it?" he complained as Rose headed to the door. "Unless they've got food, tell them to go away."

"I've got food!" Annie's singsong voice came through the door loud and clear in answer before Rose had a chance to open it. "For my _little brother_!"

Rose looked back at James's horror stricken face and reached for the doorknob.

"Don't!" he hissed at her, yanking the blankets up to his chin. "I'm _naked_ under here!"

She opened the door anyway.

Annie bounced into the room with a grin on her face and a large plate in her hand. She gave Rose a cheerful "Hi!" and skipped her way to the bed, not hesitating to leap up onto it. Rose tried not to laugh, but the way James's eyes were threatening to burst free of their sockets while clutching the blanket to himself as though it meant his life made it very difficult. She couldn't hold it back anymore when Annie bounced up to the head of the bed and threw her arms around James's neck.

"Oh, you're skinny!" Annie said, releasing James and plopping down on the bed beside him. "Here. I brought you some food. They said you haven't eaten yet. You definitely need it."

James took the plate from her, one hand still holding the blanket up to his chest, and blinked at her as though she had three heads. "You must be Annie . . ."

"Annabelle," she said with a big grin. "And you must be James. Ganbri tells me we're related. Do you go by Jim at all?"

He cleared his throat, mouth hanging open, and then looked to Rose helplessly.

"He was sleeping just a second ago," Rose offered, trying to suppress her grin. "He's not much of a morning person."

"Uncle John isn't either," Annie answered with a shrug. "Though it's not really morning. I guess you can get away with it though. You don't have any allergies, do you? There's mayonnaise in your sandwich. And cheese. Can you have cheese?"

James continued to blink at her before stammering out slowly. "I . . . can have cheese."

"There's bacon too. You're not vegetarian, are you?"

He shot Rose a panicked look and she forced herself not to snicker.

"Sorry, Annie, if you could—"

"Oh, I know. It's okay." She grinned widely at James. "Uncle John get nervous really easy and I think Ganbri's developed some kind of anxiety too. I kind of expected it. You don't have to talk to me."

Rose tried to think of a way to explain without sounding rude, but James's gaping stare wasn't helping. "He's just—it's been a bit of an overwhelming day for him. Maybe just a tad of space?"

"Oh, sure!" She climbed off the bed quickly, still grinning. "Sorry. It's just been really shitty and depressing around here lately so it was really exciting to find out about our funny little situation here. I'm normally a lot more calm and a lot less invasive."

James smiled at her weakly. "That's nice."

"Anyway!" Annie clasped her hands together in front of her, still grinning. "I just wanted to say hi and do my first big sister duty by making sure you eat something. Come find me once you're sorted, yeah?"

James attempted to smile again, but the frightened look lingering on his face spoiled it. "Yeah."

"Lots of catching up to do!"

The moment Rose closed the door behind Annie, James's eyebrows locked together.

"Why do they think they're the 'older' ones?"

"Because they _are_ older."

"They're _not_. Look at me!"

"Well, Ganbri's twenty-seven and—"

"Unless you're going to start telling people you took a four-year-old's virginity, that's a technicality and it doesn't count and you know it!"

Rose shook her head and crossed her arms. "Just eat your sandwich or I'm telling your big sister."

He frowned at her and glanced down at the plate in his hand for the first time. "It's got pickles in it."

"That's because everybody likes pickles."

"They're mummified cucumbers," he muttered with a scowl, carefully pulling slices of pickle from the sandwich. "Crazy people like pickles."

"I like pickles."

"Remember the thing I said about the four-year-old's virginity?"

Rose put her hands on her hips and tried to look annoyed. "You were _almost_ five."

"I'm sure the police would love to hear all about it." He raised his eyebrows high challengingly, waiting for a retort as he lifted the sandwich and took a massive bite out of it.

Less than an hour later, James was looking more like himself. He still looked tired, but he had more energy in his face. There was pink in his cheeks. He'd taken some time to shave and even bothered to fuss with his hair a bit. The jeans and T-shirt hung a little loosely on him but, despite the unhappy look that crossed his face for a second, he didn't say anything about it.

"What do I do if she tackles me again?" he asked before they left their room, sounding a little nervous.

"Hug her," Rose answered simply. "When you let go, she'll let go, and it'll probably be enough to satisfy her."

"I thought people saved the hugging for Christmas. Don't you just sort of slap each other on the back the rest of the year?"

The team was assembling in a large area in Torchwood's main hall with lots of murmuring back and forth and a lot of curious looks.

Annie didn't tackle him. She came running up like she was going to but then seemed to change her mind when James visibly tensed. Instead, she reached a hand out and squeezed his shoulder and James awkwardly returned the gesture.

Ganbri approached them holding James's bag, stating that he found it in one of the offices while James was asleep. The only physical contact he made with James was to nudge him with his elbow and smile at him as though they shared some kind of private joke.

Other members of the team approached to say hello and James handled them all well until Doug came up. Louder and larger than life, Doug bellowed out a welcome, grabbed James's hand as though he were going to shake it, and then pulled him into a one-armed hug that left James coughing once he was released.

"Shit, sorry, mate," Doug said with an apologetic grin. "Just heard about you and I'm happy you made it here." Doug then clapped him on the shoulder so hard that James's malnourished and exhausted body nearly crumpled beneath the blow, knocking the air out of him again.

"Okay!" Kevin interrupted, grabbing Doug by the wrist and pulling him back. "Let's not kill the guest before we even finish the introductions."

Jack stepped in front of the group, waving his hand and trying to get everyone's attention. Rose linked her arm with Annie and suggested they move away from Doug so she could hear better and Annie quickly agreed.

She glanced back over her shoulder and saw James smile and give her a quick nod of thanks. Annie enjoyed physical proximity a little too much for him to be comfortable around her just yet. He just needed a little more time to get used to everything.

Jack began to speak, spending a moment to remind everyone of who James was and why he was there, instructing them all to be cooperative. He had moved on to the information they had gathered, quickly going over it, when Rose noticed movement in the group.

James was digging through his bag. She watched as he pulled out his detecting device, scowling at it. Rose looked more carefully and could see that some of the wires on the back had been disconnected. She frowned and looked closer.

They'd been cut.

James's eyes widened and he quickly scanned the crowd, hands digging frantically in his bag. Rose looked over the group too, looking for anything out of order. Some people were noticing the panic on James's face and beginning to shift, looking to see what was wrong.

It was then that Doug pulled something small and disk-shaped from his pocket, frowning at it as he held it towards Kevin beside him. "Is that yours?"

Kevin's face scrunched up as he touched the little disk curiously.

"Drop it!" James yelled.

But it was too late. With a loud thump and a shift in air pressure that hurt her ears, Doug and Kevin both disappeared.

The panic hit almost instantly, every person in the group suddenly tense and alert, and everything happened within seconds. Rose saw both Harry and the Doctor looking eagerly towards Ganbri, moving like they were going to run to him.

They didn't get the chance.

Rose saw Kelevra turn swiftly on his heel and grab Harry by the arm. Harry tried to shove him off and they began to fall together but, with another thump and surge of air pressure, the two of them vanished. A third thump and surge hit barely a second later.

The Doctor stared at the empty space beside him in shock, before snapping his head in Ganbri's direction again. "Ganbri!"

Rose looked to where Ganbri had been standing, only to find that he was gone. Nista had been standing a few feet away from him but, as Rose scanned the room, she couldn't see him anywhere either.

"Rose!"

She looked back to James and he was holding one of the small disks in his hand. He threw it across the room and Annie caught it. Her eyes widened in surprise as she held it, looking up at James with uncertainty.

"Use it!"

Everyone was moving, rushing, trying to get hold of everyone else and she suddenly understood what was happening. Before she had a chance to react, Annie grabbed her wrist and squeezed the device in her hand.

A thump pounded against her ears and she watched James's face disappear as the void ripped her away from him once again.


	16. Chapter 16: Nista

How had everything gone wrong so quickly?

Something hadn't felt right all day but he had thought it was only that the appearance of James had offset him. He had been watching. He had been careful. Kevin told him he was being paranoid and didn't seem to believe there was any danger.

Kevin had assured him they were safe and then, with a thump like a sonic boom, Kevin was gone. Nista had felt something ripped away from him then and it took him a second to realize that it was Doug. It was an odd sensation, reminding him of what it felt like to have the blankets pulled off expectantly in the morning—something you had grown so accustomed to that you didn't realize what it was doing until it was gone.

Gone. _Gone_. They were both gone.

There was a sudden and glaring absence that struck him like ice water and shocked him into silence.

He needed to know what to do. What should he do? What was happening? Where was the threat? His eyes turned to Harry.

Harry was looking at him already, jaw tense and eyes searching. Nista searched desperately for a signal and found nothing but chaos. It felt like waves were striking him from three sides—teeth and strength and pure, unrelenting power—and it was crushing him.

Harry vanished, and that sudden shock of absence struck him again, his nerves freezing and firing like they didn't know how to work without the others.

It barely lasted for a second before he felt someone grab him roughly by the shoulders and the world collapsed in on itself. Nothingness enveloped him and the howling silence overwhelmed his senses.

They were gone. How could they just be _gone_?

He tried to reach out, not really knowing how but trying anyway. He just wanted to be home. He just wanted to be home and safe and protected.

He hit the water with force and felt it rush into his nose and mouth. His lungs desperately tried to gasp for breath and he felt the cool fluid fill them quickly. He wasn't sure how long he coughed and fought for breath, but it felt like forever.

He was on his hands and knees on something that didn't feel solid, shifting and bobbing in the water beneath him. When he opened his eyes, still gasping for breath, he saw that it was a giant tangled mass of what looked like thick, silver vines. He could see thousands of tiny creatures swimming through the water—things that looked like tiny insects and jellyfish, no bigger than houseflies. Something resembling a pale blue eel swam past him peacefully and he briefly wondered if there was anything in the water that might kill him.

The water had almost grown still when he saw a single red drop fall into it and quickly spread out like a mist. Another drop followed, and another. It took him a moment to realize that the wound on his head had ripped open and was now bleeding freely. He still felt too light-headed and confused to do anything but watch as he slowly tainted the water.

He didn't notice the buds attached to the thick vines until one began to move and open. The bud peeled back quickly, opening within a minute and revealing a deep red flower inside. The pedals were large and spade-shaped, arranged in a circular pattern that made the flower look almost like a cup with a black center.

He looked up and saw that the water stretched on forever, a jungle of thick vines just below the surface, and the flowers were opening everywhere. He felt the blood trickling down his face, dripping off of his chin, and he brought up a hand to wipe it away. When he did, it brushed the hair away from his face, and the orange glare of morning sunlight struck his eyes.

He turned to look and his breath caught in his throat at the sight. His heart stopped.

"J.J.!" Someone was calling, but it was like he couldn't hear them.

A huge planet hung in the sky, sitting upon the horizon like a giant. Its face was dark with the sun behind it, but he could see that the land was hues of orange and brown with odd green splashes, where the jungles were thick, and oceans of white, where the mountains carried on forever. He could see the blue of the oceans, two great rivers so huge and thick that they looked like twin snakes wrapped around the planet, and a massive black cloud that masked what must have been five hundred square miles.

"Jack!"

The sun was rising, casting the planet's face in shadow. It peered around the planet's edge and its light bounced off of its atmosphere, throwing spears of gold and orange and red. Blood found its way into his eye and, as the hot light touched the sea around him, the water stirred and millions upon millions of scarlet flowers began to open.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Nista!"

He turned toward the voice behind him and stumbled to his feet, pressing a hand to his bleeding head. Ganbri was only a little way away, but his legs and one of his arms were tangled in the roots beneath him and he was struggling to keep his face above the water.

Nista hurried forward, grabbing a knife from his belt. The roots moved beneath his feet sinking him a little with every step but holding him enough that he was able to walk. He began to get used to it after a few steps.

"What the fuck did you do?" he barked as he reached Ganbri. "What the _fuck_ did you do?"

"Got the hell out of Dodge, that's what," Ganbri answered quickly, looking up at him with a scowl. "I don't know what was going on, but that definitely wasn't good for our side."

He resisted the urge to throw a punch and instead focused his energy on cutting through the thick vines, perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary. "Why did you have to grab me?" he growled. He could have helped. They probably needed him. He had to be there to help get the others back.

Ganbri managed to wiggle free of the remaining vines and got to his feet, looking at Nista with a confused frown. "You were the ticket, mate. _I_ was the passenger."

Nista felt his lips curl back slightly. "What are you talking about? _You_ grabbed onto _me_."

"Check your pockets," Ganbri answered casually.

He dug through his pockets quickly, checking everywhere and finding nothing. Wallet, keys, cigarettes, his shimmer watch, none of it had one of those bizarre little disk-shaped things attached to it. He was just about to demand that Ganbri check his own pockets when his friend reached for the security pass in his wallet and pulled it out. The disk had been slipped into the clear plastic case with the pass.

"Shit."

"You, Doug, and my dad are all infected by Edmund," Ganbri said quietly. "James kept calling Edmund a Wolf, like he's the same kind of being as the Bad Wolf. I figure that means he might be competition for it. It makes sense that it would want you guys out of the way before making a move."

He stared at the disk in his hand, trying to remember exactly what he had seen once Doug and Kevin disappeared. "But why did you grab me?"

"James also thinks that the Bad Wolf can use me to infect everything else. If it has infiltrated Torchwood, I needed to get out of there before it got me. Once I saw my dad disappear too, I knew that you had to be next." He smiled a little, though it seemed more nervous than anything. "Grabbed you just in time."

"Kevin and Kel . . ."

"Don't know." Ganbri shook his head. "I think Kevin was just bad luck. Who knows what Kel was doing. Maybe the Bad Wolf infected him and he was stopping Tokrah from doing something?"

The thought sent a shiver down Nista's spine but it didn't seem that unrealistic. Kel's trustworthiness was questionable on the best of days.

"I can't feel them," he admitted quietly. "Doug and Harry. I didn't notice . . . They're just gone." He took a quick breath and cleared his throat before looking up at Ganbri's face. "What if—Do you think that they're—"

"He's fine," Ganbri answered quickly and with confidence. "They're all alive. A device like that wouldn't be designed in a way that would drop you in a volcano or something. If it wasn't programmed to drop us somewhere safe, the chances of us landing anywhere with an atmosphere is like winning the intergalactic lottery a thousand times in a row." He smiled again and, this time, it reminded him of Harry. "Don't worry. There's no way that Kevin's just floating around in space somewhere."

He wanted to thank him, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he glanced around them and said, "There's nothing here."

Ganbri nodded in agreement. "We could try walking a few miles to see if we find anyone or anything."

"The water goes on forever. I can't see anything on the horizons," he answered, glancing around again, just in case he'd missed something. "I don't think we're going to find any hints of civilization, let alone transport. I think it might be best if we just activate this thing again and see if we get lucky."

Ganbri glanced around once more and nodded towards the dark monster in the sky. "Might be inhabited. We could try seeing if we can get a signal out for rescue."

"No." He shook his head firmly. "It'll take time and we could end up destroying what tools we have. Let's just go."

The sun was rising higher, little by little. Its light was spreading across the ocean and the red flowers continued to open. He could still feel trickles of blood sliding down his face as the wound throbbed painfully, reminding him of its presence with every heartbeat. Ganbri barely even looked at it. Instead, he just stood there, looking confused.

"Look, mate, I'm worried about Kevin too but—"

"This isn't about Kevin," he snapped quickly. "Don't do that. Don't try and make me some kind of idiot just because we have different ideas. We have limited resources and we need to use them wisely. That's it."

"But we don't really know what that thing is doing," Ganbri insisted, pointing at the small disk in Nista's hand. "For all we know, it can send us out of range or something. It could run out of charges. That thing is the most important resource we have."

"Okay, genius. Let's consider what we need to stay alive for even a short time: food, water, shelter. Right?"

Ganbri shifted his weight and crossed his armed, suddenly looking uncertain.

"We've got plenty of water, yes, but no way to purify it. We can't build a fire when literally everything is submerged by at least a couple of inches. I've seen some eels and maybe there's some fish or something, but we have no idea if they're poisonous and no way of testing. If they aren't, you can't eat them raw and you know it. As for shelter, I don't see anything we could use to build one. We don't even have ground; we're standing on floating roots! Who knows what kinds of things are swimming around under them?" He tried to look Ganbri in the eye, but his friend kept glancing off to the side. "You regenerate. I don't. Maybe you don't need to think about it as much but one fuck up and I'm dead."

Ganbri shifted again. He looked almost like he was ashamed of himself or nervous, but Nista could tell that there was something he wanted to say. There was something he _didn't_ want to say.

" _What_?"

Ganbri scratched at his arms, eyes on his feet, and spoke quietly, "Why . . . why are you talking like that?"

"Like what? _Sensibly_?"

"No. Like . . . 'things swimming around'," he said, making a poor attempt at mimicking Nista's voice. "You know, like . . . you've got some kind of accent or something."

He felt his jaw tighten and he blinked at his friend repeatedly before speaking slowly, one word at a time. "You're asking me why I have an accent?"

"Well . . ." Ganbri shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah."

It shouldn't have mattered. It shouldn't have matter but it did. It was a stupid. He should have just laughed and called him a moron. He should have ignored it and focused on what they needed to do to stay alive. It should not have mattered, but it _did_.

"You have been my friend since I was six years old," he said slowly, pausing between each word as he fought to get them out calmly. "That's twenty years. Twenty _fucking_ years, Ganbri, and you are noticing _today_ that I have a _fucking accent_!?"

The calm gone. His lips were pulled back over his teeth and he had a finger raised and pointed at Ganbri's face. He was suddenly furious. He wanted to punch him. He wanted to bite him. He wanted Ganbri to realize how ridiculous that was.

"I've never heard you talk like that before!" Ganbri complained loudly, clearly exasperated.

It was the TARDIS, he knew it. Ganbri was always in range of the TARDIS. It was always translating for him, making everyone sound the same, just like it would have when they met, before Nista learned to speak English. Even once he began speaking English, the TARDIS probably just never stopped and never took his accent away. It wasn't Ganbri's fault.

But Ganbri didn't even know what he sounded like. He'd learned a whole other language and Ganbri probably didn't even realize it. Twenty years. _Twenty years_ and what did Ganbri know about him?

"Un-fucking-believable," he growled, trying to ignore the hurt look in Ganbri's eyes.

His heart rate was going up. He wanted to smoke, but his cigarettes were wet. Only the gods knew where Kevin was or if he was okay or if they'd ever see each other again. And he was trapped on a damned moon, up to his ankles in cold water, with no clear escape, with someone who was thrown off of focusing on _survival_ by an accent he's been around for most of his life.

"That's it," he snapped, shaking his head. "That's it. We're going. We're just going."

"J.J.—"

"No! Ticket, passenger, remember?" He grabbed hold of Ganbri's wrist. "Maybe we can influence it. Just think of home. Think of your parents."

He didn't give Ganbri any more time to protest before he squeezed the device in his other hand.

They were yanked back into the nothingness, the force of it wrenching at his head savagely. This time he landed on hard, solid, and _cold_ ground. There was grass all around him a couple of feet tall, still healthy and swaying despite the frost in the air.

Seconds later, Ganbri grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and turned him onto his back. Just before turning, he caught a glimpse of the ground and saw the splatter of blood that his head had left. He was bleeding much worse now and, now that he was aware of it, he thought he could feel the skin peeling back a little.

"Are you okay? Are you okay?" Ganbri was asked frantically. He was grabbing at him, touching his head. It hurt and Nista could see the blood on Ganbri's hand when he pulled it away. He tried to answer but couldn't quite figure out how, still feeling dazed from the travel. Instead his eyes widened, attempting to focus, and managed to nod his head a little.

"Help!" Ganbri suddenly yelled. He was sitting up straight, looking over the grass like he could see something. "Is anyone there? Help!"

Nista stared up at the night sky above them, noticing a gold and green nebula glowing prettily in the dark. There were ships too, flying around high above them. He could feel the lightheaded feeling clearing away and wished Ganbri would stop panicking. Another moment to get his bearings and he'd be fine.

"Hello! Somebody help us!"

"Hello!?" a male voice answered.

"Where are you?" another female voice added in.

Nista tried to tell him to shut up. Shut up and hide until they knew where they were. But Ganbri just let him down on the ground and stood up, waving his arms frantically in the dark.

"My friend is hurt! Please help us."

"Are you armed?" the female voice asked.

They were getting closer.

"No. Well, I've got a knife, but no guns or anything."

"Drop the knife."

Idiot. He didn't know who they were. He didn't know what they were capable of. They were just as likely to get eaten or sold as they were to get help.

"Ganbri . . ." he managed to get out, sitting up and feeling the world spin as he did so.

"It's okay," Ganbri assured him quickly. "I'm gonna get you some help. You'll be okay." And just like that, he was dropping his knife on the ground and putting his hands up.

A face appeared over the grass and Nista saw a man looking at him. A woman snatched Ganbri's knife off the ground and began patting him down. He could tell by the way they spoke and moved that they were military.

"Damn, you weren't kidding" the man said, stepping forward and grabbing Nista's chin, looking at the wound on his head. He spotted the knife on his belt and took it without a word. "How did this happen? How did you get here?"

"He's clear," the woman said before Ganbri had a chance to speak again.

"Clear a spot!" the man bellowed towards the area they'd come from. "Coming in with two civilians. One wounded."

There were more voices and sounds in the distance of movement. The man grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet, the woman coming to his other side to help. Once he was standing, he could see over the grass and saw an enormous building not far away. There were doors thrown open on the side closest to them and he could see people inside, moving furniture and clearing the room.

It was gigantic, but it clearly wasn't a military building. It was someone's house that had been occupied.

As they walked towards it, Nista looked to the sky again, at the ships and the stars and the nebula. He glanced at the fields and the mountains around him, the sizable pond off to one side, the grass near the house that sat at the edge of the light. He looked at the house he was about to enter—the architecture, the decoration, the furniture inside.

He reached out and grabbed at Ganbri's sleeve but Ganbri just assured him again that he'd be okay. He wasn't looking. He wasn't noticing.

Someone had dragged a cot into the cleared center of the room and they laid him down on it.

"Stay with your friend," the man instructed firmly. "Make sure he stays awake."

And Ganbri was kneeling next to him, holding his hands and looking pale like he was expecting him to die. It was just some dizziness and blood—nothing new. The danger was not in the wound on his head, but all around them, and he couldn't say so.

"Where are we?" he asked instead, keeping his voice sounding dazed so that the others would just assume he was confused. "Who are they?"

"We're somewhere safe. These people are going to help you."

Ganbri didn't get it. He wasn't looking. He didn't understand that Nista was telling him to _look_ and see where they were, who they were with.

The woman touched the unharmed side of his face. Her eyes were green and her hair was dark red, loose strands tumbling forward when she looked down at him and smiled kindly. "You're going to be fine. It's a lot of blood but it's not that bad."

"Thank you," Ganbri answered, smiling nervously. "Thank you."

She smiled at Ganbri next and he still didn't see it. "You're welcome, kid." She stood up and ruffled his hair as she walked away.

"Ganbri," Nista whispered urgently the moment she was gone. "We need to leave _now_."

"No, no, no," Ganbri answered quickly. "They're gonna help you. You're really bleeding, mate."

They were never going to leave. They were never going home. He was never going to see Jack again. He was never going to see Kevin again. It was a different time, a different planet, a different face, but he would think that Ganbri would recognize that black-lipped smile anywhere.

" _Ganbri_ ," he said, urgently still. He leaned up, gripping the front of Ganbri's shirt with his free hand, and dropped his voice to the lowest whisper he could. "It's _Kahlia_."


	17. Chapter 17: Harry

"Bloody stupid man."

The voice that spoke was a woman's, though the hands that gripped him felt like a man's. She was strong. Harry tried to get his legs underneath himself to help, but she had already hauled him to wherever she wanted him to be and dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground.

"You two idiots are too stupid to see where the road ends and the river begins? Your friend might die, you know."

The sky above him was a miserable looking combination of greys without a spot of sunshine to be seen. His breath rose from his mouth in thick clouds and he was only just beginning to notice that he was soaking wet. Soaking wet and _cold_.

"He rather likes the cold," Kel's voice answered from somewhere he couldn't quite see. "I'm confident that he'll recover."

"I've seen tougher men than him lose their lives to the cold," the woman answered gruffly. "The minute a man goes thinking he's something special, God quickly reminds him how human he is. He'll die as easily as the rest."

"I'm fine," Harry croaked. He wasn't entirely sure it was true though. His cold, wet clothes felt like they were biting him. A thousand sharp needles seemed to be sinking into his sink and he could feel himself beginning to shake from the cold. It probably didn't help that the ground he laid on had a good foot of snow on top of it.

He sat up, feeling the cold set into his bones. There was a river before him, wide and swollen with rain and snowmelt. There was a clear path in the snow where he'd been dragged out but, as he glanced around him, it was obviously that there was no path that they had arrived by. When he spotted Kelevra, the snow around him didn't have any tracks more than ten feet from where he stood now, and nothing that led to the road. Their new friend didn't seem to notice that all the evidence pointed to them appearing literally out of nowhere.

All the trees in sight were dead and the snow was old and deep. They were well in the middle of winter and neither of them were dressed for it. Kel's dress shirt had long sleeves but it was thin and his trousers were wet up to the knees. The rest of him was dry but his human body's lips had already begun to turn blue. Harry didn't even have long sleeves.

The woman that had dragged him out of the river was standing at the back of a small horse-drawn cart, shoving and stacking crates to make a little space. "You, get in the back," she ordered.

He blinked at her, still trying to make some sense of the situation he suddenly found himself in. She looked at him with fierce brown eyes surrounded by hard-earned wrinkles, and though she was a little older, her hair was dark beneath her black cap. She pointed at the cart impatiently but he was too busy looking at her. She wore thick black skirts, but she had bright red lace draped around her shoulders that somewhat distracted from what was otherwise rather drab and modest clothing. Why did she look so familiar?

"Well, I'm going home," she stated with an irritated huff. "You can get your stupid friend in the cart and come with me or you can both stand around doing nothing until you both die. Make up your minds and quickly."

She stomped through the snow to her horse's side and Harry noticed that her boots and the hems of her skirts were wet. He noticed that before he noticed that his fingers had gone numb.

"Harry."

He looked up to see Kelevra gesturing to the cart and he understood that he was meant to sit in the back. He narrowed his eyes at Kel as he moved, remembering that he was supposed to be angry about something. He was too cold to know for sure. But it was Kel; there was usually a good reason to be angry at him.

He sat in the back of the cart and pulled his legs in close, shivering freely now. The woman said something about not having anything to offer him but that she would once she took them home, if he could last that long. Kel walked beside her and she led her horse down the road, Harry shivering in the cart with the barrels and crates.

He could taste salt in the air and knew they must not be far from the see. The smell of the sleeping land beneath the snow confirmed that it was Earth, even if the horse didn't. The woman's clothing placed them somewhere in the colonial age. He was relieved to know that he was at least still in the neighbourhood. If he couldn't find a way home, he could always just live through a few centuries until he caught up. It wasn't ideal, but he'd certainly been through worse.

It was then, when he had established that he was not in any immediate danger and a way home, that he began to think about how had arrived where he was in the first place. The shock of the cold water from the river combined with his recent fracture had really surprised him enough to make him forget.

The last thing he remembered was Jack gathering them for a meeting. The team had gathered so that Jack could spread what information they had. They were supposed to come up with a plan—a _proper_ plan. They were supposed to find a way to eliminate the threat of the Bad Wolf and get Rose the hell away from him and his family for good. And then suddenly, somehow, he was going for a polar bear swim several centuries in the past.

Then he finally noticed the absence. The cold had been covering it up so far but, now that he was coming to his senses, it was like a gaping hole in his chest. It felt like someone had calmly removed a piece of him without bothering to let him know, and the feeling of loss was staggering.

J.J. and Doug were gone. He couldn't feel them. Couldn't sense them. It was a connection that he didn't know he had to them but it's disappearance made him feel surprisingly vulnerable and alone. He was not a fan of either of those feelings. What the hell had Edmund done to them?

Doug had disappeared first. He remembered that now. He pulled something from his pocket, looking at it as though he were confused and not sure how it had gotten there. Then he disappeared, taking Kevin with him.

Harry remembered that his thoughts went immediately to Ganbri. Doug's disappearance was not an accident and every instinct in him roared to life to protect his son. And then what?

He remembered looking across the room and meeting Ganbri's eyes. He didn't look confused or panicked like the others. He looked calm. He looked prepared. He put on his soldier's face in the same second that most of the others had gone to complete confusion.

And then he felt someone grab his arm. He turned and saw Kelevra gripping him, his free hand reaching for Harry's pocket. He remembered twisting his arm and trying to break free, yelling at Kel to let go. Then suddenly it felt like the world imploded around him and he was sucked through the void.

His memory was a little hazy after that. He supposed the struggle with Kel continued on the riverbank for a brief moment before Harry went over the edge and fell in the water. It seemed that all he could remember after the enormous pressure on his ears during the jump was the sudden, penetrating cold of the water.

It wouldn't do to talk about it now, but he twisted around in the cart to glare at Kel just the same. He walked alongside the woman that had helped them, his true form hidden beneath the skin of a dead man, peeking over the back of his shirt collar. Harry wanted to throw something, just to see if he could hit the tiny bump perfectly and crush the annoying little being underneath.

But Harry had questions and Kel probably had answers.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a small, modest looking tavern. The woman instructed them to get inside and sit down by the fire while she found someone to care for the horse and the goods. It was cold enough that they obeyed without a word more than thanks.

They hurried inside and paid no mind to any of the people they passed on the way. The both of them had eyes only for the large fireplace and the inviting stools in front of it. A girl approached them a moment later and handed them each a cup full of water without a word. She stood to the side and watched their shaking hands attempting to hold the cups to their lips and did nothing more than tilt her head to one side curiously.

No one did or said anything else until the woman who'd helped them came in through the door, stomping her boots to try to get the snow off. "Well, what are you doing?" she barked when she looked up. "You're going to stand there and watch them freeze to death? Go get them some of Ed's clothes!"

The girl who had given them the water jumped and the order and hurried off.

There was another woman, standing in the doorway of what looked like a kitchen, who leaned forward now. "Soup?" she asked simply.

"Yes, yes," the first woman answered, peeling off her heavy layers of outdoor clothing. "Make sure it's got some good chunks in it. These boys need more than broth. And a heel of bread each, I should think."

None of the people seated at the tables in the tavern had spoken. There were only a few of them, but each one was paying close attention to the stranger's that had just come through the door. Perhaps they were expecting a good story. Harry supposed that he would, too, if he were one of them. Two complete strangers, wearing totally bizarre clothing that offered no warmth and dripping wet in the dead of winter? It wasn't exactly something they'd see every day.

The girl returned and handed each of them a bundle of clothing and quickly went back to word, again without saying a word.

"You can get dressed through there," the woman in charge stated, pointing to a door at the far end of the tavern. "Be quick about it or someone else will get your soup."

They hurried towards the door she pointed at, clutching the dry clothes in their shaking hands like they were bundles of cold. Several pairs of silent eyes watched them cross the room but, the moment Harry shut the door behind them, he heard voices return to the tavern.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demanded immediately when the door was shut.

"I didn't do anything," Kel answered as calmly as he could with his voice quivering. "Someone put a teleporter on your person."

Harry made a face and was about to respond with an expression of disbelief but he thought he ought to check his pockets first. Sure enough, he found a small disc, just like the one Doug had pulled from his pocket before he disappeared.

"Yes, that's it," Kel said with a nod towards the device. "I didn't exactly have time to explain. I thought I might be able to get it out of your pocket quick enough if I just went for it. But, of course, you fought me and now we're both here."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "How did you know I would have one?"

Kel was stripping off his wet clothing, seeming like he was barely paying attention to Harry. "Why wouldn't you?" he answered casually. "It makes sense that the Bad Wolf would want anyone infected by Edmund out of the picture. The moment Doug pulled that device from his pocket, I knew that it had been the first move. I didn't expect one this early. I was unprepared."

Harry began getting undressed too, glaring at the Zumecki doctor with distrust. "Then why hold onto me like that?" he growled.

Kelevra turned to him, his borrowed body bare and vulnerable, and he held his hands up as if to prove that he had no weapons to hide. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked. "Leave you all alone?"

It seemed simple and honest. Neither of those were traits that could usually be found in the things Kel said. Harry found himself looking away from Kel, feeling a little embarrassed and then feeling more embarrassed for being embarrassed in the first place. He began to wonder if that was the manipulation—Kel exposing himself so freely to appear vulnerable and honest when the goal was really to make Harry uncomfortable and shut down the interrogation.

"You can look," Kel assured him with an annoyed tone to his voice. "It's not like it's mine anyway. I never took you for a prude."

"You're being inappropriate to throw me off," Harry grumbled.

"Inappropriate?" Kel repeated, sounding more annoyed. "How, exactly? Am I supposed to continue to wear wet clothing in sub-zero temperatures to make you feel more comfortable about your sexuality? Get a hold of yourself, honestly. And get dressed before you get hypothermic and I have to help you with it. Goodness knows how inappropriate you would think _that_ would be."

Harry glared at him for a moment before Kel rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Oh, yes, it's so uncomfortable and inappropriate for me to be facing you while I dress, but it's not even slightly inappropriate for you to want me to turn my back to you while I'm naked," Kel grumbled loudly. "You keep you and your sex obsessed mind over there, lest you confuse my simple presence as some sort of invitation."

"That is absolutely _not_ what's happening," Harry growled back. "I didn't ask you to get naked."

"No, but you _did_ make me being naked sexual."

"I said you were being inappropriate," Harry insisted.

"Yes, which is your way of saying that you were uncomfortable because you perceived it as something sexual," Kel argued as he pulled his clothes on. "Just accept it and move on, pet. Your obsessions with sex and sexuality are not my problem."

"Just stop talking, alright?" Harry snapped at him. "I don't like you. You don't like me. There, I've got to the bottom line of it so we can cut all the bitching leading up to that. My head hurts way too much to put up with your shit."

"Funny you should say that." Kel turned around again with a small container in hand. "I had this in my pocket when we left. I was going to give it to you to help with your fracture. It should help with healing and with the pain. Just put it somewhere people aren't likely to touch you—it's not meant for humans." He put the container into Harry's hand with a little more force than necessary and a look of resentment in his eyes. "Get well soon."

Kel stepped around him to get to the door and left without another word. Harry hated it that Kel had made him feel like such an asshole so easily. He hated that most of his conversations with him seemed to end with him feeling like either that or feeling stupid. It was truly a gift.

He put on his fresh clothes while mentally grumbling to himself, trying to think of how he was going to handle being stuck alone with Kelevra. The container held some sort of thin, white cream that looks almost like moisturizer and had an odd, sort of flowery scent that Harry didn't recognize. He scooped some out with his finger and applied it to his collar bone area, rubbing it in until the whiteness of it had disappeared.

He began to feel the effects almost immediately. His pain decreased and his mind felt a little sharper. He breathed a little easier knowing that he had it with him in this strange place. He quickly decided that he ought to put a little more effort into being patient with Kel, especially if they were going to be stuck together.

Ed's clothes fit a little loosely, particularly around the belly, but they were dry and warm and fit in with the locals so he wasn't going to complain. When he re-entered the tavern, Kel was sitting by the fire, devouring the soup he'd been given. The woman who'd helped them was leaning against the wall near the fire, watching Kel with an odd smile on her face. She'd traded her warm outdoor clothes for something a little more form fitting. She still wore a plain black skirt, though the hem was now sitting just above her ankle, and she had traded her warm coat and decorative lace for a red bodice, with blue and yellow laces. She beamed proudly as she draped a piece of bright yellow lace across her shoulders to hold back the chill and didn't seem to care how anyone looked at her.

"I imagine you two have quite a story," the woman who'd helped them said as Harry sat down. "You didn't come from around here. I wanna know how you got so far from in this snow with those clothes and no supplies." Harry opened his mouth, but the woman interrupted him quickly. "Don't tell me you were robbed. There aren't a lot of men willing to sit out in this snow to rob people and they don't take the clothes off your back and give you . . . whatever you were wearing."

Harry smiled at her, pondering over what story he could tell her that she'd buy. She seemed a bit too clever for the usually stories one would tell.

"I don't think we ever introduced ourselves properly," he opted to say instead. "My name is Harold Mott and my travelling companion here is Kelevra Presley."

Kel swallowed the soup in his mouth and nodded. "So pleased to meet you."

"Kelevra Presley," the woman repeated slowly. "That's a different name."

"Yes, ma'am, it is," Kel answered with another nod.

She eyed them both up and down suspiciously and then, after a long pause, shook her head. "I don't suppose I'd get a _true_ story out of either of you if I paid you the world," she said with a chuckle.

"No, ma'am," Kel answered again, smiling up at her.

She seemed to like that.

"Well, Harold and Kelevra," she said with a sigh, wiping her hands on her skirts and putting a practiced smile on her face. "My name is Bridget. Welcome to Salem."


	18. Chapter 18: Kevin

Kevin opened his eyes gasping. Something had hit him hard in the stomach and his knee throbbed with pain. He was lying face down in some sort of sticky mud, twigs stuck in his clothes and rocks digging into his body. Somehow, Torchwood was gone.

"Kevin!" Doug's voice hollered. "Fucking say something! Kev!"

Kevin ran his hand down his face, scraping away mud. "I'm here," he groaned loudly.

"I can fucking see you! I know you're here!" Doug shouted back, actually sounding a little angry. "Are you fucking dead!?"

Kevin scowled and turned over, looking around for Doug. "No, I'm not fucking dead! What kind of a stupid question is that?"

"You weren't moving."

Kevin followed the direction the voice came from and looked up. Doug was tangled up in some vines a good three or four storeys up in a tree. He was struggling to break free, huffing and red from the effort. He must have been really worried.

"You're lying face down in the mud, not moving—what the fuck was I supposed to think?" the big man growled irritably.

Kevin smiled and tried not to chuckle. It wouldn't help anyone to get Doug more upset than he already was.

"Are you hurt?"

Doug stopped his struggling for a moment to consider the question. "I don't think so. You?"

"Few bad bruises, I'm sure, but nothing worse than that."

"What the flying _fuck_ happened!?" Doug suddenly burst out, struggling against the vines again.

They were coming loose slowly, but the process would probably go faster if Doug stopped fighting them so much and actually looked at the way he was tangled. Kevin was about to tell him so when he heard rustling in the foliage nearby.

He glanced around him and realized how wild the area was around him. Thick, moist jungle and not a hint of civilization. He remembered giant snake-like creatures running around the old morgue such a long, long time ago and felt a stirring of fear he hadn't felt in a long time. There could be anything out there.

"Doug, get down _now_ ," he heard himself saying. "Get down. Get down."

"What the fuck do you think I've been trying to do!?" Doug barked back angrily.

Kevin began to scan the area around them, looking for somewhere they could hide, while Doug worked at freeing himself. He could hear the other man muttering a string of curses as he worked. Kevin didn't see any further evidence that something might be moving near them, but it didn't make him feel much better.

"You think I can swing down on this?"

He looked up to see Doug holding up one of the thick vines he'd freed himself from. " _No_ ," Kevin answered firmly. "Try to climb down. Quickly."

Doug used the tree's height to his advantage, scanning the area the whole time he climbed down. "I don't see anything," he announced once his feet touched the ground.

"That doesn't mean there isn't anything there."

Doug nodded in agreement before pointing into the trees. "I saw some big rock faces over there. Might find some shelter."

"I guess it's not terribly likely that we'll get home today," Kevin sighed.

"We'll be fine," Doug answered quickly. "Think of it like camping."

They moved as quickly as they dared through the thick jungle. Doug constantly scanned for signs of life, carefully watching to see if they were being stalked, while Kevin did his best to keep an eye out for dangerous looking plants or small animals. You never knew just what might kill you on an alien planet and this most certainly was not Earth.

They managed to reach the rock face without incident and, within minutes, found a cave entrance. The rocky tunnel looks like it stretched on forever and a warm draft came from the depths like a great monster breathing on them. It was large, _too_ large really, but it still felt safer than being out in the open.

After a moment to catch their breath, Doug dropped himself on a nearby rock and heaved a great sigh. "Well, we're fucked."

Kevin couldn't help but chuckle. "It's not good, is it?"

"Who do you think did it?"

Kevin blinked and stared at his companion. "What do you mean?"

Doug's face had a dark look to it and he stared at the ground instead of making eye contact. "That wasn't an accident. That was a move. And I didn't see any strangers besides James at headquarters. Someone put that thing in my pocket which means that someone is probably infected." He sighed again. "You think it was James?"

"I really don't know," he answered quietly with a shrug. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"It would make sense if it was James," Doug carried on, grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes as though he were exhausted. "He's the only major change. Mind you, that might just make him the trigger. We could have had someone infected this whole time. Who's been acting weird?" Kevin opened his mouth to answer, but Doug interrupted before he had the chance. "Fuck it. Everyone's been weird."

He had a point.

"Well," Doug sighed again and stood up, pulling the tiny odd device from his pocket. "I can try to figure this thing out and hope I achieve something in the next couple of hours, or I can use that time to help get set up before nightfall. What do you think?"

Kevin tried his best to smile. "Think of it like camping?"

They set to work quickly. They agreed that anything brightly coloured should be avoided and that plants that showed signs of being lived on or chewed were their best chance for not accidentally poisoning themselves. They burned leaves and twigs of different logs before gathering it for fire to see if they gave off any unusual fumes. For once, Kevin was thankful that Jack smoked. Having a lighter felt like having treasure in his pocket.

Boiling water was going to be problematic, seeing as neither of them carried cooking pots on their person. Doug had a plastic water bottle which Kevin knew could be used to boil water if they were careful enough, though he didn't like not having another option ready. As for food, it was impossible to know what they could eat. Even on Earth, it was extremely risky to eat anything without knowing what it was or what it could do to you. Then there was the chance that the planet froze at night, or that deadly gases drifted out of the cave, or that anything they touched could be covered in some extremely unfriendly-to-humans bacteria that would have them both vomiting blood until they died.

He shuddered. Working in a morgue had given his imagination too much material when it came to thinking of ways to die. The best he could really hope for was that Doug would work out how to use the device to get them home before any of that was able to happen. He mentally reminded himself over and over that Doug was very intelligent and very good at his job. It didn't help as much as he thought it might. Especially once Doug started talking again.

"It's not so bad," the big man mused while hauling a log back to the cave. "Really, if we got stuck here forever, we could just build a new civilization. We'd get to name everything whatever we wanted, like Adam and Eve, just without the fucking it all up part."

"I think I'd rather just go home."

"Hey, I'd making fucking fantastic wife," Doug answered quickly, suddenly sounding very serious. "Don't you doubt my abilities."

Other than the occasional moment when Doug's fears would manifest themselves in small fits of irritability, you'd never know what a dangerous situation he was in. He was happy. He smiled. He made jokes. Kevin thought about the people he'd left at home and wondered how his friend managed to do it.

He wondered how Jack was holding up. Was Ganbri helping him? Was Annie watching him? Had Kevin's disappearance opened the door for the Captain? Were they talking again? He supposed it might be a good thing if it helped fix the rift between those two. Even if he never made it home, it might be okay as long as it helped that.

The sun was going down. Through the trees, he could see that the sky turned amethyst with streaks of pink as the light died away. It was pretty, but it only disheartened him to see something so otherworldly. How could he possibly miss home so badly after just a few hours? All he could do was hope that the nights here were short.

Doug idly poked at the fire with a stick, his eyes lost in thought. The device that had brought them there was sitting on a rock nearby, silent and still and offering no advice. Doug was convinced that there must be a way to make it reverse what it had done—a recall code of some sort—but it didn't exactly have a screen or keyboard attached for him to play around with it.

"You think they're alright without us?" Doug asked quietly, long after the sky had turned black.

Kevin didn't want to make eye contact when he answered. "Sure," he said as cheerfully as he could. "They have Celeste to take care of them."

Doug smiled softly. "They've got Nista too. He's a tough little shit. With those two, they'd be safe from the Devil himself."

Kevin chuckled. "I wonder if the Devil has ever been bitten by someone before. The shock alone might drive him off."

He could almost see it—Jack standing there with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a scowl on his face, all five feet of him telling the Devil to fuck right off or have his throat ripped out. He could almost see it working too. He'd be okay. He told himself that over and over in his head. He'd be okay.

"Wanna know a secret?"

He looked up to see Doug smiling brightly at him. It was the first genuine looking smile he'd had since they arrived there.

"Okay."

"Me and Jenny," Doug said grinning. "We're kind of a thing."

"Kind of a thing?"

"Yeah. You know, like a couple."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "You're sleeping with Jenny?"

"No!" Doug answered quickly, his smile quickly changing to a scowl. "It's new. We haven't done anything like that yet. Besides, you don't need to be sleeping with someone to be with them."

Ah. "Does anybody else know?"

"No," Doug answered with a chuckle. "You think I wanna die young?"

Kevin nodded in agreement. Harry was never exactly close with Doug, and the Doctor was protective enough over his kids that it wasn't likely he'd be happy about _anyone_ dating his daughter.

"I figure, the reality is we probably won't get home, so we may as well speak freely," Doug continued, eyes glancing off to the side. Kevin waited for it. "Seeing as that's so . . . Can I ask you a really personal question?"

"If it has anything to do with my genitals, then no," Kevin fired back quickly. He'd meant it as a joke, but Doug looked genuinely horror struck for a second. Kevin laughed and Doug laughed with him and, for a moment, he felt okay.

The laughter was cut short by a thump that echoed throughout the cave. They both froze and stared at the gaping black throat, watching carefully. They each only had small belt knives rather than actual weapons and it had never felt smaller than when Kevin reached for it now.

After a long, torturous moment, a quiet tapping filled the air. They tensed and watched as a figure slid out from behind the rock edges, tapping on it with some purpose. They looked human and Doug heaved an audible sigh of relief.

Kevin watched carefully as they approached. It looked like a woman, dressed in rough, clearly hand-made clothing. Her hair was long and groomed but her feet were bare and dirty. She was so pale, she nearly glowed in the dark.

"Who's there?" Kevin called out.

The woman threw her hands forward in response, almost looking panicked. She gestured, flat palms lowering to the ground. _Quiet_.

"Are we in trouble?" Doug whispered. He was tensing his body, squaring his shoulders and preparing to defend himself.

"I don't think so," Kevin whispered back. "She looks like she's alone." He made a point of putting his knife back on his belt and trying to look relaxed. Doug hesitantly followed his lead.

The woman came near enough for the firelight to show her features. Pale, yes, and she had eyes with a red tint to them that suggested it was no coincidence that they'd found her in a cave. There were markings on her face that Kevin thought were scars at first but, as she drew closer, realized that they were raised and organic looking. It seemed she wasn't human after all.

The woman smiled at them, still holding her hands low. _Quiet, quiet_ , she seemed to be telling them. She pointed at the cave's roof above them and gestured for quiet again. Then, slowly and never moving her eyes from them, she bent down and grabbed a flaming stick from the fire. She walked quickly to the mouth of the cave, glanced around, and found a thin, stringy plant that seemed like something halfway between moss and vines, which she then wrapped around the flame. For a moment, it looked like it simply put the fire out, but then it glowed and fingers of flame began to creep out through the edges. When she held the stick high, it worked like a perfect torch, casting light without burning too hot or too quick.

She walked back towards the darkness of the cave, reminding them again to stay quiet before gesturing that they should follow her.

"What should we do?" Kevin whispered to Doug.

"We can't do anything else," Doug answered. He snatched the tiny teleporting device from the rock he'd left it on and shoved it into his pocket. "We're completely fucked at this point. How much worse could it get?"

Kevin nodded in agreement, and tried to shake his nervousness off. The woman seemed harmless enough. They'd be fine, he assured himself and tried to push away all thoughts of jungle cannibals. Doug was big and fierce when he needed to be. They'd be okay.

They gathered what few items they had and followed her into the darkness.


	19. Chapter 19: Annabelle

The first thing she smelled was smoke. The ground felt wet beneath her and she was cold. Even with her eyes closed, she could see stars so she chose not to open them yet. She tried to focus, tried to think. What had happened? Was she hurt? Her palms and her knees hurt a little, likely from falling, but that was about it.

And then she smelled her father's cologne.

She wanted to open her eyes and see that she was at home. The smoke was only the smell of Mum burning her breakfast again and Dad had come to wake her. The last couple of weeks had only been a dream. The boys were okay, and she was only late for work.

"Annabelle," her father's voice called to her. "Annie, get up!"

For a moment—for one beautiful moment—it was true.

And then she opened her eyes.

The city around her was in ruins. Buildings were cracked and fallen, the skies were grey with smoke, and the street was littered with items that had no business lying in a street. She saw food that had long since spoiled, purses, shoes, even a set of clothes laid out in a way that looked suspiciously like their owner had simply disappeared inside them. When she looked closer, she could see a faint shadow on the ground, outlining where the body would have been.

"Come on."

But that was Dad's voice. And then his hand appeared in front of her face, open and waiting for her. She put her hand in his and her father hauled her up onto her feet.

She froze. She looked at her father's face and saw a man who was far too young. The grey in his hair was gone, most of his wrinkles were smoothed out, and his eyes sharper than she'd ever seen. He had a thick scar that ran along his jawline that she knew he'd never had and another scar that looked like a burn on his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. He was wearing military fatigues and had an assault rifle hanging from his shoulder.

"Are you alone?" he asked, eyes looking her up and down carefully. "Are you hurt?"

She yanked her hand out of his. "Who are you?" she demanded sharply.

His back stiffened immediately and he answered with a tone of impatience. "Captain Shaun Temple of Torchwood, London Division. My mission is to get you and any companions you may have with you to safety. To do that, I need you to answer two questions immediately. Did anyone come with you and are you trained to use firearms?"

A shriek filled the air. Something high and piercing and unlike any animal she'd ever heard, from Earth or otherwise. The man who looked like her father grabbed at the rifle hanging on his shoulder and gripped it tight, his eyes immediately scanning the area.

For a few seconds, there was silence. And then another shriek rose. And another and another. The entire city around her erupted with an unholy screaming that injected a deep fear into her bones.

"Yes," she answered shakily, reaching her hand out. "Yes and yes. Give me a gun. Rose!"

Captain Shaun Temple pushed an unfamiliar pistol into her hand. "Rose?" he asked. "Rose _Tyler_?"

"Yes!" Annie looked at the rubble around her, desperately looking for a sign of Rose, calling her name again. They had been touching when the device went off, right? They had arrived here together, she was sure of it.

"Rose Tyler!" Shaun called with a booming voice. "We need to get to safety immediately!"

The shrieking was getting louder—hundreds, maybe thousands of screams.

Suddenly, Annie saw movement in one of the buildings beside them. A great jagged crack ran down the center of the building, exposing some of the inside and threatening to let half the building fall at any moment. When she watched the crack eagerly, she caught a glimpse of the movement again.

"There!" she yelled excitedly, pointing at the building.

Rose must have appeared inside it, several storeys up. Annie could catch flashes of her through windows and the crack that ran down it, rushing through and trying to find her way down.

"I hope she's fast," Shaun growled. "They're here."

Annie followed his eyes and saw it—a shadow oozing around the corner of a building. It almost looked like the shadow of a human, thin and stretched out, with limbs that reached out like tentacles. She looked for the creature it belonged to and saw none, not even when the shadow moved away from the building wall and sat alone on the ground.

She took a step back, staring in horror as the inky shape oozed across the ground. Black fingers stretched towards them, grasping hungrily. She watched as the shadow began to swell up from the ground, rising to give final proof that the shadow was a living being. When the head lifted, it was as black and featureless as the rest of the body, but Annie felt it staring at her all the same.

Something crashed inside the building beside them and she heard Rose let out a startled yell. Shaun tensed and grabbed her arm, looking prepared to bolt, but Annie couldn't seem to look away from the monstrous thing on the ground.

Its arm began to lift from the ground next, its outstretched hand looked like it was made from oil and shrouded with black smoke. As horrible as it was, it was almost beautiful. Where the jaw of a human would be found, the shadow began to stretch, as if it were opening its mouth. The darkness began to blister and burst, slowly revealing a gaping hole, and that shrill, terrorizing sound burst forth from it, growing louder as the hole grew bigger. As that sound filled the air, Annie could swear she could feel its cold, oily fingers tightening around her throat.

"Go!"

Rose's voice broke her from the trance and Annie looked to see her jumping from the second floor of the building. The landing looked hard, but Rose rolled and sprang to her feet with practiced ease. Suddenly, Annie realized that the shadows were everywhere. They were creeping around corners and climbing over cars. Their shapes stretched across the open streets and climbed over abandoned cars.

Shaun yanked on her arm to get her moving and they were running. Her heart pounded in her throat as they fled the screaming darkness and she didn't dare to look back.

"This way!" Shaun shouted. "Quickly!"

He ran for what looked like the entrance to an underground tube station, but it was filled with rubble. Instead of steps leading down into the Earth, there were chunks of concrete and twisted metal and it looked like liquid cement had been poured over top of it all to truly seal it in. She didn't see the small hatch door protruding from the mound until Shaun had already reached it and was frantically turning the handle.

There were clothes on the street around the tunnel entrance. Clothes and shoes dropped in unnatural ways, all pointing to the door. She could see the faint shadows that the owners had left behind and it made her run a little faster.

She didn't stop to look or ask questions once Shaun had the hatch open. She jumped into the hole without hesitation and Rose slammed into the back of her barely a second later. They scrambled in the darkness, clutching each other, trying not to trip on the rubble. Shaun jumped in next and pulled the hatch shut behind him, shutting out the screaming.

"Are you girls okay?" he asked as he turned the handle to lock it.

"Is that door going to stop them?" Rose asked instead, her voice sounding high and frantic. "What's to stop them from opening it? Are we safe?"

"You're safe," Shaun answered. He breathed a heavy sigh and a flare suddenly lit up the darkness around them. Shaun lifted it up high so that they could see their surroundings, showing that the tunnel seemed completely empty of all life. "At least for the moment. They can't open the door."

"What are those things?" Annie asked next, her heart still threatening to burst from her chest. "Where are all the people? Why do you look like my dad!?"

"You ask a lot of questions that need long answers," Shaun answered quietly, averting his eyes so as not to look at her directly. "I _am_ your dad. Or, at least, I was going to be. Wherever you came from, it's a universe with a different story than this one. Hopefully, a happier one." He cleared his throat and pointed the flare towards the tunnel before them. "We need to go that way. I'll explain more when we get to the safe house."

The tunnel had been cleared out for the most part. There was little rubble on the path, no garbage, no clothes. Almost all signs of human life had been removed. There was a light growing ahead of them as they moved, turning a corner and descending another flight of steps that opened up to the tube station. Once, there would have been ticket booths and ATMs and turnstiles but they had all been ripped out. She could see where there was once a little shop, probably selling newspapers and snacks to the daily commuters, but now it looked like a makeshift medical room.

"Welcome to Torchwood," Shaun announced. "It's not much, but at least we have power."

It wasn't much, but it was still impressive. The medical room was small and cramped but looked well equipped and there was an impressive collection of weapons carefully set on a shelving display that must have been taken from the shop. There were several computers set up off to one side and Annie could see on the screens that they were actively tracking any activity outside.

"Is this how you knew we were coming?" Annie asked, pointing at the computers. "Are you tracking rift activity?"

"Yes. For this site, our tech expert is Celeste Burke and Sandra Kapoor is in charge of medical," Shaun answered with a shrug. "Sometimes you know them. Sometimes you don't."

"I know Celeste," Annie muttered, looking around for signs of her. "What about Doug?"

"Dead."

She stared at the man who looked like her father and blinked in shock at how little that word seemed to mean to him.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "It was three years ago. I only knew him for a couple of hours. We were ambushed."

"Where are the others then?" Rose asked next. Annie noticed her eyes shifted suspiciously to all the corners, looking for hiding spots. "Celeste and Sandra?"

"They'll be down in the tunnels right now. They'll come back soon. We do it this way because this whole process can be overwhelming for you; it's always easier if it's just me at first."

"You keep saying things as if I've been here before."

Shaun looked at her with heavy eyes and gestured towards an old couch against the wall. "Have a seat."

Rose took her hand and led her over to the couch. Annie could feel a weight growing on her chest as she sat down, knowing the look in her father's eyes too well. He pulled up a rickety folding chair and sat down before them, leaning forward in his seat and looking at their shoes as he began.

"The rift here is unique. It's been . . . damaged," he began slowly. "It makes this spot vulnerable to crossings, not just from other times, but from other universes. For some reason, _you_ keep coming here. Sometimes you're alone and sometimes you're not. I've seen you as a baby, a child, or as you are now. I've even seen you as an old woman. Sometimes you've come here on purpose, on a mission. Sometimes you're lost. You were even brought here by kidnappers once."

Annie frowned. "Why?"

"We don't know," he answered simply. "But it happens over and over again. I've met a hundred different versions of you. Torchwood established this safe house and asked me to run it so that I can manage the rift activity here. So that I can make sure you're safe."

"But . . ." She knew not to ask. She knew what the answer was. She asked anyway. "Where's the version of me in this universe?"

She was told a little more gently than she had been with Doug.

Shaun sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair. "Technically, you were never born. Your mother passed away while she was pregnant with you." He smiled a grim smile. "And then we found this rift."

"Is that what happened?" Rose asked quietly. "Out there? Is that how it started?"

"It's hard to say. I don't know how things are where you're from. Are you familiar with a man they call the Doctor?"

"Yes," Rose answered quickly. "Yes. Is he here? Can we call him to help us?"

That grim smile slipped away into something else. Annie knew that face—those eyes. She wanted to tell Rose to leave. She didn't want her to hear whatever Shaun was about to say. But she knew that nothing she said could possibly make Rose leave the room. So she sat, silent, and waited.

"My wife . . . Donna . . . she used to travel with the Doctor. They were good friends," Shaun explained slowly. "But something happened that meant they couldn't see each other anymore. Long story short is that Donna's memory had to be taken away or she would die."

"The metacrisis," Rose filled in. "That happened for us too."

Shaun nodded stiffly. "I met Donna after that. We got married without either of us knowing anything about the Doctor. And then one day, he showed up." His face hardened and he shifted in his seat, awkwardly scratching at the scar burned into his neck. "He came with a man who swore that he could cure Donna's condition. It seemed that he, himself, had been very sick before and had only recently been cured by the Doctor, making him well enough to help."

Annie nodded eagerly. She'd heard this story before. Uncle Harry was physically weak and had suffered from years of mental illness. Uncle John had found ways to make him better. It was how they fell in love with each other in the first place.

"For a while, it worked." Shaun stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing, his voice a little weaker than before. "Except that the man who had been helping was still sick and no one knew. The treatment that made him better turned out to only work temporarily and, one night, he died in his sleep."

Annie gasped. She couldn't help herself. Her hand shot up to her mouth and her eyes suddenly stung with the threat of tears.

"You knew him?" Shaun asked with a bitter tone to his voice.

"My Uncle Harry," Annie admitted, voice shaking. "He—he taught me how to play chess when I was little."

"Harry. Yes, that's what he called himself. Then I suppose that's where our stories change," Shaun answered with a slow nod. "Well, Harry had enemies. There was one who called herself the Nightmare and she was not pleased to learn that she'd missed out on the pleasure of killing him, so she went to war with the Doctor instead. He became so obsessed with the fight between them that he couldn't think of much else. Without Harry, it was up to the Doctor to fix Donna's treatments. He made a mistake, she got sick, and then she died."

Annie knew that part was coming and she did her best to act strong. She turned her body to stone, refusing to quiver or gasp. However, she could do nothing about the tears slowly leaking from her eyes.

"The grief—the _guilt_ of her death on top of Harry's . . . the Doctor thought it was his fault and . . . it changed him. Suddenly he was so full of rage and he turned all of it towards the Nightmare. In his determination, he began to do things that no good man would do."

"But, those things . . ." Rose stammered. "Those—those _things_ out there—"

"He killed the Nightmare," Shaun interrupted. "And I watched. And it was horrible. Worst of all, it didn't satisfy him. He was still grieving and he was still angry and he'd run out of people to direct it at. He became irrational and not himself. He kept saying that he could make things right somehow—that he could undo it all. He vanished and left me behind. A couple of weeks later, those shadows began appearing on Earth."

"No," Rose said firmly. "He didn't do that. He wouldn't have done that. Not on purpose."

"But he did. Don't you understand what I'm telling you?" Shaun answered with a sad shake of his head. "The Doctor's gone mad."


	20. Chapter 20: Declan

Suddenly, there were only four other people in the room. Declan stood, blinking at the empty space all around him and felt a heavy sense of dread overcome him. Something had gone horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

"What did you do?" the Doctor was demanding, his stern eyes turned on the man who looked so much like himself. "Where did they go?"

"Are they alive?" Celeste's voice boomed over top of the Doctor's.

"They're alive," James answered quickly. "They're all alive."

"How do we get them back?" Jack asked loudly.

More questions, each louder than the last and coming in rapid succession. They were all angry. Declan could see their bodies tensing, their faces twisting in panic and fear and it was translating into anger. That wouldn't do. James was potentially the only person who knew how to get the others back, and he was already weak and exhausted. A fight, verbal or otherwise, might make him less able to help.

"Because biting his head off is really going to help, isn't it?" Declan cut in, quickly stepping in front of James. "He didn't do this. You all saw what happened. What James did was a _reaction_ to the others disappearing. Getting Rose out of here was the smart thing to do."

Celeste made a point of trying to look more calm but, with her height, she still looked a bit frightening when she stepped forward and loomed over James. "Explain how those things work right now," she growled. "Tell me how to get him back."

James looked at them all with wide eyes. He was cornered and alone and suddenly he looked quite helpless.

"I can't," he said quietly. "I don't know where they went. They could be anywhere and I can't track them."

Declan took a step towards James, preparing to get between him and the others if he had to. The looks on their faces were awful. They'd all just lost someone they loved—vanished in an instant and with no warning. Celeste had lost her brother—as far as Declan knew, he was all she had. James had lost Rose and, though Declan barely knew him, it was easy to see the heartbreak on his face. Both the Doctor and Jack had lost their sons, and the Doctor had lost his husband as well.

It bothered him most to see the Doctor so distressed. He owed his life to that man and had grown up revering him, wishing that he could somehow pay him back. Now he was just standing there, unable to do anything but witness as his life was pulled away from him. He reached out for the Doctor's shoulder but, the moment he did, it felt like he was trying to push his hand through mud and a hostile energy pushed back at him. He pulled his hand back and tried not to show that it bothered him. He supposed that, if he was as stressed out as the Doctor was right now, he might not want to be touched either.

"We all need to breathe for a second," Declan stated carefully. "We're all in shock and none of us are useful like this. We need to breathe and calm down and try to approach this rationally."

There was a long pause before Jack nodded stiffly. "Everyone take fifteen minutes to collect yourselves."

Celeste's jaw clenched but she quickly walked away without another word. James and the Doctor both looked like they were going to be sick. James found the nearest chair to sit down on, his entire body trembling and his breathing ragged, while the Doctor ran his hands through his hair over and over, occasionally pulling it, and walked off. The primary tunnel that ran through Torchwood was enormous—there was plenty of room to pace some stress out.

"Davies." Jack walked up to him, face burdened and voice low. "Call your wife. Talk to your daughter. Tell them you love them."

"Yes sir," Declan answered with a quick nod. "Good advice."

"It's not advice; it's an order," Jack answered firmly and then he walked off too.

Declan didn't know what else to do but obey. He went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and called his wife.

Laura sounded confused when she answered. "What are you calling for?" she asked, her tone barely concealing the immediate worry that flooded her. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

He never called during work. He was always too wrapped up in paperwork and mission plans and security. The only time he'd ever phoned Laura from work was once when an alien they were brought in for interrogation slashed him across the chest and another time when he broke his arm sparring with Annie. It was a sad thing, he realized, that him calling home had become associated with something bad.

"Something happened," he confirmed. "But I'm okay."

"Are you hurt?"

"No." He paused and took a deep breath, not sure how to proceed. "Listen, this one . . . this one is big. Some of the team are missing. We don't know how to get them back."

The kettle was boiling. Laura didn't speak while he took it off the stove and began setting up a serving tray. He heard her breathing slowly, her breath quivering ever so slightly as she processed what he'd said.

"When—when are you coming home?"

"I don't know. The kids are gone, Laura. I can't leave."

Another pause. "I understand. Of course."

He never understood how she was able to do that. He'd be a mess if he was in her shoes right now. It was good that she was so strong. If something should happen . . .

"Wait a minute. Let me get Jemma."

He carried on while he waited, looking for things to serve with tea. It was all he could think to do now. Everyone was wound tight and ready to snap and he didn't know how to fix it. When he'd been rescued from his abductor and would-be killer as a child and police arrived on the scene, someone handed him a cup of tea and a cookie. He didn't remember who gave it to him or even if he ate it, but he remembered that somehow it helped to have something to hold—something to look at and feel and think about other than what had just happened.

He remembered the cup feeling too hot in his hands, to the point where it felt like it was burning. But he didn't let go, because the feel of it assured him that he was alive and awake. When he caught a glimpse of the Doctor disappearing around a corner down the street, his long coat trailing behind him, the feeling of that burning in his hands was what assured him that he had not been a dream.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, baby." The smile that broke across his face was instant and involuntary. Two words in that little voice was all it took to remind him of why he did this—why he was okay with this. He listened to her chat about the funny thing she'd seen on TV and smiled, piling muffins on the little serving tray. He pictured the way she was probably swaying on her feet as she spoke, not even noticing her mother standing nearby, chewing nervously at her lip, and he felt the determination set in. He tossed some butter tabs on the tray and slipped a knife into his pocket, his smile fading as he realized his time was running out.

"What are you calling for anyway?" Jemma finally asked. She must have finally noticed how unusual that was.

"I'm not going to be coming home for a while," he explained, trying to sound as cheerful as he could. "I have a lot of work to do. I wanted to tell you that I love you. And I need you to care of Mum, okay?"

She hesitated. "Okay." He heard Laura's voice hurriedly mutter something in the background. "I love you too, Dad."

He could hear Jemma handing the phone over and then Laura's voice came through again. "Dex? Be safe. Just promise you won't do anything crazy."

He was going to do whatever he had to do. He could do this.

"I won't," he promised. "I'll be fine."

"I love you."

He smiled and wished that he could hold her hand or kiss her—anything to make her not worry. "I love you too." It was the best he could do.

He came back to the others with the serving tray in his hands. James was still sitting in the same chair. His breathing seemed better than it was when Declan left but he looked dreadfully pale. Declan felt certain that he was likely to collapse from exhaustion soon. Celeste had chosen to stand, leaning against a nearby desk and taking slow, steady breaths. Jack was seated near James, perhaps keeping an eye on him, while the Doctor was still pacing down the hall.

"Tea," he announced quietly as he placed the serving tray on the desk Celeste was leaning on.

He was surprised to see James push himself to his feet, looking weak and slightly wobbly. Jack offered a hand to stabilize him but James pushed it away with a look of determination on his face. He was carefully sitting back down with his tea in hand when the Doctor finally joined them.

"The devices are called void bombs," James began before anyone else spoke. "They rip a hole through the void and pull you through it. The hole is small enough that it pulls itself shut behind you, leaving almost no trace. Fast and dirty. I'd been using them in emergency situations to escape the Bad Wolf."

"Where do they take you?" Celeste asked. Declan could tell that she was putting effort into sounding gentle.

"Anywhere," James answered with a shrug and a shake of his head. "Any time, any place, in any universe. Your thoughts will offer it some slight guidance, mostly just to make sure you land somewhere that won't instantly kill you, but there is no real control over it. It's mostly random."

"It's dangerous," the Doctor cut in. "And stupid."

James narrowed his eyes. "Come up with a better plan for getting the hell out of the way when the Bad Wolf catches up to you and we can all start doing that. In the meantime, they're all I've got that throws the Wolf off for a while."

"So they could be anywhere?" Jack asked next. "They might not even be in the same _universe_ as us?"

"It's actually quite unlikely that they're in the same universe as us."

"And we can't track them," the Doctor added in a bitter tone.

"There has to be a way to track them," Celeste insisted. "There's always a way. Everything leaves footprints in one way or another. If the Bad Wolf kept finding James, then it means that the bombs leave _something_ behind that we can follow."

"An energy signal," Jack offered. "Like the rift."

"Even if we find a signal, how are we supposed to pull them back through?" the Doctor muttered irritably.

"With a lasso if we have to," Declan answered, with a little more bite to his voice than intended. "You're not being helpful. Come up with answers or don't speak."

The Doctor blinked at him several times. "We might be able to build a bridge of some sort," he said quietly after a moment.

They talked back and forth for nearly an hour. Ideas were tossed around but they could never seem to get past the initial thoughts and James and the Doctor were getting more irritable with each other with each passing sentence.

He finally came to the conclusion that none of them knew what to do and the time had come to end it. "Edmund crossed through the void without a ship," Declan finally announced. "James, you need to eat and rest. You other three can work with the knowledge you have to try to come with a way of tracking the bombs. I'm going to talk to Edmund and see if I can get any information out of him."

"I'll join you with Edmund," Jack stated quickly, standing up. "I've managed to get him to cooperate with me before and it's best not to deal with him alone."

"I can work on tracking." James tried to sound determined, but his voice was weak and exhausted.

"I'll have you sedated if I have to," Jack answered quickly. "You're no good like this. Celeste, could you see him to his room, please."

James scowled. "Jack—"

" _Captain Harkness_ ," Jack corrected quickly. "This organization is under my command and, if you are to remain working with us, you will need to respect my authority. Burke, escort him, please."

Celeste nodded stiffly and waited for James to stand up while the Doctor turned and walked away without another word. Jack gave Declan a nod and they began to walk together.

"Did you call your family?" Jack asked him once they were out of earshot of the others.

"I did," he answered. "I said what I needed to."

"Good."

They walked in silence for a while longer, their footsteps echoing through the empty tunnels. The usual noise and bustle of Torchwood had given way to an eerie stillness. There were still coffee cups and files laid out on desks that they passed, giving the unsettling feeling of abandonment. They passed one of Kel's work stations and the machines beeped away rhythmically, the monitors spitting out information that no one was watching.

Jack glanced back over his shoulder into the emptiness. "I want my boy back," he said quietly.

"I know, Captain."

"I want him back and I want him safe."

"Of course."

"I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens."

"As I would for my daughter," Declan agreed with a nod. "I think any parent would."

"I want to make a deal."

Declan frowned, glancing sideways at the man beside him. "Captain?"

"This is bigger than us. I know that. I'm not stupid," Jack continued, unfazed. "We'll try to stop what's going to happen because that's what we do, but we're in over our heads and we all know it. So I want to make a deal."

Declan shrugged his shoulders. "What's the point in making a deal if the ending is inevitable?"

"Because having more options is better than less options no matter who you are. I bring a lot of options," Jack looked him square in the eye with a heavy, burdened look. "I just want J.J. safe."

Declan kept frowning at him, completely confused, but he found himself nodding slowly. "Of course."

"Will you find me?"

Declan scoffed. "I already have, haven't I?"

They turned the last corner before the hall that led to Edmund's cell and Jack suddenly stopped walking.

"Declan."

He turned and looked back at the Captain.

"I want you to know that I would help you if I could. If there was anything I—"

"I know."

"You're a good man and it's been an honour working with you."

"Likewise, Captain," he answered with a smile. "Best of luck in your endeavors."

Jack stood his ground and Declan carried on along. He looked up and spotted the security camera as he neared Edmund's cell. The others would likely find this recording to confirm Jack's story. It wouldn't matter.

Edmund was sitting on the floor of his cell, sitting patiently as though he had been expecting company. His head tilted to the side curiously when Declan approached, his eyebrows knitting together. How clever he was to have learned that. To build a body from scratch and learn to communicate with humans right down to facial expressions—genius. Impossible, really. But also ridiculous. When everything in all the universes was working so hard to transcend, what was the point in stooping back down so low?

"Edmund," he said with a smile, pushing the button on the wall to open the cell. "I have some questions for you. I need to know how your body works."

He stepped into the cell, watching the way Edmund moved. His body language looked slightly uneasy, maybe even nervous. What would a being like him have to be nervous about? What did he fear? If he felt fear, did that mean that he could be hurt? Could he die?

He waited for the usual chorus of parroted words. 'Declan. Friend. Hello. Friend.' It didn't come. Edmund just frowned deeply at him and carefully stretched one of his legs back behind him, slinking away so carefully without turning his eyes away.

"You changed yourself to fit in that body," Declan continued, stepping nearer. "How did you do that? What did it do to you?"

Could he be hurt?

"How _does_ your body work?"

Could he die?

He heard Jack's footsteps echoing from down the hall. He was coming. This was the moment. This was the time to find out.

He'd put a knife in his pocket. He realized now what an odd thing that was to do, though he hadn't thought about it at the time. He pulled it out of his pocket then, wondering at the strangeness of it all, and stepped forward. Edmund's hands flew up in front of him—defensive action, just like a human—and Declan slashed at him. Cuts appeared where he struck, though Edmund didn't bleed. Perhaps he was immortal, even in his body, but there was only one way to be sure.

Edmund made an odd noise that sounded like a bizarre mimic of a human scream as Declan shoved his hands aside and drove the knife into the creature's chest. It was high and shrill and made him feel like ice water had just been poured down his back, but it did not deter him.

"Declan!" Jack's voice yelled from the hallway and the footsteps suddenly picked up speed. "Declan, stop!"

He plunged the knife into Edmund's chest and throat and belly. Over and over and over again. He didn't bleed, but he screamed and he fought. It had to be doing something for him to scream like that. And why would he fight if it wasn't harming him? Was it working? A dozen stab wounds and he was still fighting, though he had done nothing to harm Declan in return. Questionable at best.

" _Declan_!"

He turned around and saw Jack standing there with his gun drawn. The sight was enough to make him suddenly realize the situation he was in. Edmund had fallen back onto the floor, half leaning against the wall, and Declan was straddling his body with the knife in his hands.

"What's happening?" he gasped in surprise. "Jack?"

"Get off of him!"

He watched as his own hand pulled the knife out of Edmund and plunged it back in again. "What's happening?" he shouted in panic. "Is he dead? Did I kill him?" He plunged the knife into Edmund's neck, deep enough to kill any human.

"Davies, get off of him now or I will be forced to shoot you!"

Edmund was still gasping and making horrible noises, but he was still alive. Shocked, but alive. Why had he stabbed him? Why did he have a knife in his pocket in the first place?

"Jack, I—I don't understand," he said, trying to shake the confusion from his head. He pushed off of Edmund's body and climbed to his feet. He still had the knife in his hand and Jack still had the gun trained on him as he stood. "I don't understand."

"It was you, wasn't it?" Jack asked loudly. "You stole the void bombs from James when you set up his room and planted them on the others."

He did. He remembered that now. James's backpack had been forgotten in all the commotion and the bombs had been easy to steal. If anyone had asked, all he had to do was say that he was taking it to James's room for him. It had been easy to slip a bomb into Doug's pocket, being so hyperactive and trusting. Harry's fracture made him easy as well—his usual suspicion and alertness lowered greatly in his pain. Nista had been harder, guarded and careful as he was. It was well known that his weakness was Kevin and Declan had used that to his advantage. He claimed he needed to see his security pass in order to update it, allowing him access to Torchwood as long as Kevin was present, in case Nista needed to see him. Nista only asked a couple of questions before accepting it—he so disliked being stuck at home alone. Declan had slipped the void bomb into the security pass's plastic cover, updated the pass in case Nista looked into it, and then handed it back over.

"I don't know why," he said, shaking his head. "Why did I do that? I wouldn't. Jack . . . I've helped take care of them since they were little."

"Put the knife down, Declan," Jack said firmly, the barrel of the gun never straying. "Do _not_ make me put you down."

Why wouldn't he answer him? Why wouldn't he understand? Why wouldn't he explain?

"I didn't want this," Declan said, his voice pleaded. "Jack, I didn't want any of this."

There was a table only a couple feet away from, piled with Edmund's toys and books. With his free hand, he snatched the largest book within his reach and threw it hard at Jack's head. When Jack flailed, he shot his arm out and flicked the knife, slashing at his wrist, but being careful not to touch. It wouldn't do for the camera to see him touch him.

Jack dropped his gun and Declan quickly picked it up. "Jack!" he heard himself shouting as he pointed the gun at his Captain. "I don't want to—" He pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times—filling Jack's body with holes that he knew would heal up again soon enough.

"Oh, shit!" he yelled, firing twice more. "I don't—I didn't—"

The mission was done and he wasn't needed anymore. He didn't try to get away when he heard Edmund getting up behind him. He spun around, facing the strange creature as it stood up, looming over him like the ghost of a giant.

"Edmund," he gasped, raising the gun again. "Edmund, help me."

He fired another round into Edmund's chest but, this time, Edmund's body glowed and allowed the bullet to pass through him. A long, thin finger stretched out towards him and he stood, frozen on the spot, as it reached his forehead.

The second Edmund's finger touched him, it felt like something wrapped a cold hand around his spine and ripped him away. For half a second, he looked down upon himself and watched his body drop to the ground like a discarded puppet.

And then everything went black.


	21. Chapter 21: Ganbri

It was her. For a moment, he had no idea why he hadn't recognized Kahlia immediately, but then he knew why. She was happy. He'd never seen her smile because she was happy and, for some reason, seeing her smile that way made it hard to remember how much he hated her.

She had touched J.J.'s face and told him he'd be okay. She had ruffled Ganbri's hair and there was no instinct in him to recoil from her. In an effortless few seconds, she had made him feel safe. He stared across the room at her, watching the way she walked with such confidence and presence—her heavy boots thumped on the floor, her weapons clacked on her belt, she took up room and pushed through when there was none. It was nothing like the careful, liquid elegance that she had held herself with when he met her. He tried to remember her that way and tried to see her as the same person. He tried to remember the look on her face when she killed Mouse in front of him, but the bright eyes and the easy smile that he saw now seemed to make it impossible and suddenly he felt a deep aching in his chest.

"Listen to me," J.J. was hissing quietly at him, his hand gripping Ganbri's arm tightly. "You can't get emotional now. I need you to keep a level head, Ganbri."

But he was. His chest felt heavy and ached with a dull pain he'd only felt a few times in his life before, but it felt like it was all so far. He felt like he was somehow separate from himself, sitting outside of his strange and alien body, watching from the back of the room. He had to be there, because to be inside himself at this moment might prove to be too much.

The air was crisp and had a strange taste to it that was damp and sweet. It smelled like dirt and summer and some kind of pollen. He'd never smelled or tasted air like it ever in his life and, yet, the familiarity to it brought a sense of relief so strong that his eyes began to sting. And the presence—their _presence_. He could feel them, everywhere. Hundreds, _thousands_ of minds, feeling and thinking and operating on a level that other species simply didn't. He was used to feeling the presence of his fathers as if it were the glow of a candle at the other end of a dark room—but now there were so many candles that he could feel the heat of them warming his skin, producing so much light that he could finally see what was around him.

Now he knew why his fathers rarely spoke of Gallifrey or the Time Lords. The universe would be a cold and dark place without this. The only way to survive it would be to forget what it felt like to be warm.

J.J.'s fingernails dug into his arm hard enough to snap him back to attention for a moment. "If they see you cry, they'll know something is wrong."

Ganbri nodded quickly and hurriedly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's Gallifrey," he muttered quietly. "The Time Lords are still alive. There's so many of them. I feel them all. I can—"

"I know," J.J. interrupted him quickly, his voice suddenly calm and soothing rather than the anxious hiss it was before. "I know it's overwhelming but I need you to keep it together. Ganbri, look at me. You need to hold it in until we're alone, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded again, taking a couple of deep breaths. "Okay."

J.J. gave him a sideways glance but didn't say anything else. He let go of Ganbri's arm and relaxed his body, trying not to look too alert. Blood had matted his hair down, sticking it to his face. The wound had torn open fiercely and Ganbri could see where the skin had peeled back a little from his skull. He had no doubt that it hurt terribly but J.J. had always been so tough that he rarely let anyone see how much his injuries hurt.

He began to glance around, taking in as much information as he could while trying not to look too obvious. There were several people moving in and out of the rooms, most of them in similar military uniforms. He didn't pay much attention to the ones that seemed to just be carrying things—tools, files, devices he didn't even recognize—and looked for the ones that were too important to be bothered with such small tasks.

Kahlia was off to one side of the room, holding some kind of communicating device and tapping buttons rapidly on it. She glanced up and caught him looking but did nothing more than offer a faint smile with her black lips and turn away. The man who had brought them in with her was standing next to a table covered in files. Ganbri noticed that there was almost always someone approaching him or waiting to speak to him. His uniform was slightly different than the others. A small, red star sat on the right side of his chest with two black stripes next to it, running from his shoulder to his belt.

The man had small patches of grey in his dark hair and hard lines in his face, put there by years of stress rather than age. His eyes were a clear, icy blue ands seemed to see everything, though they never appeared to look at anything without purpose.

"Is the port ready?" the man hollered loudly and someone answered him immediately with a time frame. "Where's medical?"

"We can't reach them," a younger man answered.

"Get Tassiel then."

The young man hesitated. "Sir—"

"Blood does not stop flowing just because the comms are down," the older man said firmly. "She has more experience with wounds than us. Get her."

The younger man looked over to Ganbri with an unhappy expression on his face. He was young. Ganbri wasn't sure how he could tell, but somehow he could. The youth on the man's face was genuine rather than the trick of a young body and his green eyes wandered towards everything the way a child's would. Ganbri placed him at no older than a century, probably less.

" _Now_ , Hannes," the older man growled. "Before our guests find us impolite."

"Yes, General." Hannes half jogged out of the room, though his eyes lingered on Ganbri's face as he went. If Ganbri hadn't been watching, he would have missed the half a second that it took for Hannes to nudge the arm of another man he passed.

Suddenly _that_ man was looking at him. Another youth, though this one looked at Ganbri with a focus that the other had lacked, drinking in every detail and missing nothing. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make Ganbri quickly look away, suddenly nervous.

"J.J.," he whispered, trying to move his mouth too much. "I think something's wrong."

"Which one?" J.J. whispered back.

"Black hair, next to the clock."

J.J. couldn't see without any obvious twisting of his neck so he didn't move. "Just don't make eye contact."

But he could feel the man's eyes on him. He could feel the presence of him rolling forward and pushing on him like gravitational waves. Ganbri shifted uncomfortably and tried to pretend that he was inspecting J.J.'s wound.

"Guard your mind," Ganbri warned quietly.

But the man didn't say or do anything. Not yet. Ganbri stole another glance and he was simply staring. His eyes were like two deep pools that seemed to draw him in—dark blue oceans that went on forever and invited him in. Ganbri felt the draw and quickly looked away again, not knowing what to do. He was panicking on the inside.

Now Kahlia was looking. She'd stopped working on the device in her hands and he could feel her eyes passing between them. The room slowly became quiet. The General had paused to look up now. Even the grunts carrying paperwork and equipment had slowed their steps, looking curiously about as though they could sense something was wrong.

The young man stepped forward. His approach was calm, but Ganbri felt his hearts speed up with each step the other man took. He stopped when he reached the cot, standing opposite Ganbri and just far enough back that J.J. wouldn't be able to reach him from his position. He crouched down so that he was looking up at Ganbri and smiled.

"Funny thing, a Time War," the man said almost cheerfully in Gallifreyan. "So many people get lost in the rifts. Where is it that you came from?"

J.J. didn't speak Gallifreyan, so he couldn't answer for him. "Nowhere in particular," Ganbri answered, trying his best to keep his accent accurate. "We've just been trying to get somewhere safe."

The man tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes piercing through him. "You don't fight?"

Ganbri didn't know what to say. He was afraid his accent would give him away, if it hadn't already. Perhaps he would use a word incorrectly or the man would say something he just didn't understand. He was not eager to reveal anything about himself that he hadn't already.

"I'm afraid you've picked a poor place for safety," the man continued, as though he hadn't noticed that Ganbri never answered him. "We tend to attract enemies here, you see. We've even had assassins of late."

"That's terrible," was all Ganbri could think to say.

The man smiled at him in a way that felt eerily familiar. "It is," he said softly.

A door banged open and a woman entered the room, her presence seeming to bring back all the noise and movement from before. She was no youth, carrying the many years she'd faced in her eyes, but she carried herself with strength.

Her eyes immediately set upon the man that had been speaking to them and she placed her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?" she demanded of him with a scowl. "I told you to stop interrogating people like that. It creeps them out."

The man smiled at her in a warm way that was nothing like the way he'd smiled at Ganbri. "I was only chatting."

"No, you're being just like your bloody father and there's more than enough of him to go around already." She made her way over to them, pulling pieces of armour off with each step and dropping them on the floor. "Move."

The young man quickly scrambled out of her way, the weight of his presence slithering back like a shadow at dawn. He inclined his head slightly in Ganbri's direction and gave a somewhat genuine looking smile.

"Hannes." The woman held her hand out expectantly. Hannes appeared at her side and sprayed her hand with a strange smelling mist. "Alright, what happened?"

Ganbri was about to answer, but the woman suddenly held her finger up to silence him. After another brief moment of silence, during which she stared curiously at J.J., she put her hand down.

"What language does he understand?"

"English," Ganbri stammered out. "Of 21st century Earth."

"That's unusual for an Alreesh," she answered, switching to English as though she didn't have to think about it at all. "What's your name?"

Ganbri noticed J.J. lifting his chin slightly when he answered and wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it. "Jack," he told her, his eyes focusing just to the side of her face.

"Jack the Alreesh of 21st century Earth," she repeated back, raising an eyebrow at him. "I'm Tassiel. I'm not a doctor but this lot are useless so you'll have to bear with me. What happened to your head?"

"I was hit by debris two weeks ago."

"That isn't two weeks old," Tassiel stated bluntly.

"We were unexpectedly pulled through a rift," Ganbri offered in answer. "It tore open then."

Hannes appeared at her side again, placing a small table next to her that had an assortment of equipment placed on it.

"Are either of you half breeds?" she asked, not even bothering to look up at them as she picked up a tool shaped almost like a pen. "Anything unexpected?"

"No, ma'am," J.J. answered immediately.

"Right," she gestured towards Ganbri and then to J.J.'s face. "I need your hand."

Ganbri quickly put his hand out to help and, without even blinking, Tassiel jabbed him with the pen-like tool. He felt something sharp stick him before he had a chance to pull back and Tassiel tossed the tool to Hannes.

"What was that!?" Ganbri demanded.

"DNA," she answered simply and went back to her tools.

"You could have asked!"

"Yes, but you might have said no and then you would have been even more angry when I did it anyway. Hold still, dear." She began to wipe the blood from J.J.'s face gently, her eyes carefully searching the wound as she did. "Very few Time Lords go to Earth and even fewer are raised there. Your English is clearly better than your Gallifreyan."

"We're only lost," J.J. spoke up suddenly, and Ganbri could tell from his voice that he had become very nervous. "We didn't mean to come here. We only want to go home."

"Everyone wants to go home."

Ganbri kept an eye on the others. Hannes had given the tool with his DNA to Kahlia, who was plugging it into some other kind of device. He felt sweat gathering on his forehead, not sure what would happen when they got their results. If Kahlia was a part of their team, they would have her DNA on record and a match would show up. He wanted Tassiel to finish her task quickly so that he and J.J. could make a run for it before they knew. Maybe they could escape and disappear before anything happened.

"Is that port open yet?!" the General suddenly yelled. One of the workers at the back of the room called out an answer of two minutes.

Kahlia's head snapped up. "General."

 _So soon_? Ganbri started chewing at his lip, his fingernails scratching at his knees nervously while he sat there. It was no good. What could he do? He and J.J. had no weapons in a room full of armed people. They wouldn't get far if they simply tried to run and there was no chance of them winning a fight.

He noticed the strange one with the dark blue eyes slipping quietly around the room behind him, joining the others.

Tassiel shook her head irritably, her eyes still fixed on J.J.'s wound when she snapped, "I just need a yes or no." When the others didn't answer, Tassiel looked up. "Kahlia!"

Kahlia looked at her apologetically while she held the device out to the General. He stared at it for a long moment, the other young man peering over his shoulder.

"Tassiel, we should step out for a moment," the General said solemnly.

"We're not stepping out," she grumbled in return. "You brought me in here to patch this kid up and I'm patching him up. You can tell me, standing right there, _yes or no_?"

The General paused for a moment before finally meeting her eyes. "Yes."

Tassiel seemed to deflate for just half a second before her steely resolve suddenly came back tenfold. "Well, we knew that, didn't we?" she said with a voice as hard as stone.

"There's more," the General said.

"There's always more," she snapped back. "The details don't matter."

A moment of heavy silence followed. No one spoke. The General handed the device back to Kahlia and Tassiel began to close up J.J.'s wound. The young men were standing either side of Kahlia now and they were all looking at each other with eyes that said they were communicating through their thoughts.

Ganbri watched them to see if there was any hint they were about to move. But their expressions weren't right. They weren't suspicious or aggressive in any way. Even the sly one with the blue eyes had a strange mixture of concern and confusion on his face. And that sense of familiarity began to creep up on him again.

He looked at the room around him, letting that nagging feeling sink in a little more, encouraging it even. He'd thought everything had that slight feeling of déjà vu because of the telepathic influence of an entire planet of Time Lords, or perhaps even some kind of genetic memory. But it wasn't. He'd _seen_ this room.

He knew the painting on the wall. He knew the clock. He knew the rug. He knew what the General's table would look like beneath his spread of files. They were faint and so very distant in his memory, but they were there. He'd seen them in the thoughts of his fathers—the small images he caught when they thought about home. He looked at Kahlia, her black lips giving away her identity despite her red hair and green eyes. He looked at Hannes. His hair was a light brown, almost blond, but his eyes were just as green as Kahlia's were—perhaps she had been thinking of them when she regenerated into her current body. And then the other one, with his head of black curls and his blue eyes so dark that they could almost be black, he looked to be just as young as Hannes was. Ganbri stared at him and imagined what he would have looked like when he was a young child.

"Port is opening!"

Kahlia ran. The boys followed her. The General stood beside his table and folded his arms, staring at the door and waiting.

Tassiel's eyes shot upward and straight into Ganbri's. "Do you know where he is?"

Ganbri leaned back in surprise. "Know—who?"

"Your father, boy. Do you know where he is? Or did he leave you on Earth?"

The air pressure changed quite suddenly and a loud mechanic grinding vibrated the floor beneath Ganbri's feet. The lack of screaming or concern on Tassiel's face told him that it was apparently nothing to worry about. She just stared at him, waiting for an answer.

The door banged open again and Ganbri's eyes widened at the sight of the man who came in. He was taller than Ganbri was used to seeing him, broad of shoulder, and with hair as black as coal, but Ganbri knew him immediately. He was spattered head to toe in blood, his armour had scorch marks and scratches all over, and his belt had a variety of weapons, some of which seemed to be missing.

Kahlia and the two young men followed behind him like ducklings, suddenly seeming much smaller and less threatening in his presence. Their hands were stretched out, ready and waiting to take his equipment and armour as he stripped it off.

"Master," the General said with a nod of acknowledgement.

"If you can't get medical on the comms, send someone out into the field to get them," the Master order loudly, hardly bothering to look up at the room as he handed his weapons belt to Kahlia. "We have wounded."

The General made eye contact with Hannes and gave a quick nod of his head towards the door, sending the boy off. "Your people will be seen to," he said quietly. "In the meantime, it seems there is a discussion to be had."

"As pleasant as conversing with you can be, I have a rather large amount of bodily fluids to wash off."

"We've found the Doctor's son," Tassiel's commanding voice interrupted.

The Master's breast plate thumped heavily on the floor and his eyes immediately turned to Ganbri. They bore into him, sharp and fierce, and Ganbri suddenly realized why the Master was so feared. Being on the receiving end of that look without _knowing_ that he wouldn't hurt you made Ganbri's insides feel like they turned to water.

"I would prefer that we have this conversation in private," the General said, his voice firm and steady.

"What's the point?" Tassiel answered with a roll of her eyes. "He has another child. I'm sure he has many more."

The Master stared at him a moment longer, his brows slowly moving together. "This doesn't matter now," he said quietly and then turned to go.

"Dammit, he's your son too!" the General snapped, banging his fist on the table.

The Master froze on the spot. Ganbri couldn't see his face, but Kahlia and the young man beside her were looking up at him with nervous faces and the whole room seemed to be holding its breath.

The Master turned back around, smiling as though he were waiting for the punch line. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" Tassiel answered with a stern severity to her voice. J.J. seemed all but forgotten and tried to slink off the cot, but Tassiel's hand shot out and shoved his chest back down before he was able to leave. " _Impossible_ , Master? Or just improbable?"

"Impossible," the Master answered firmly. "I have always respected you, Tass."

Hannes slipped back into the room. "Messengers are on their way to medical," he muttered quietly.

Ganbri looked towards the blue-eyed man. The confidence in him seemed to have left as the tension in the room mounted. He looked unsure now, his eyes turning to the Master, looking for guidance, just as Kahlia and Hannes were.

"Your name is Berran," Ganbri said quietly. The Master stepped slightly to the side, putting his own body between the two of them and it made Ganbri smile a little. He may look different in this world, but his father was still the same man. "Where I come from, you died when you were a toddler. Hannes was only a baby, not even named yet. We call you Wilson when we talk about you. Neither of you ever grew up, which means that I haven't just been lost in time. For you to be here, I must have travelled to an entirely different universe."

He watched his father's face carefully. A different face and yet the same in so many ways. He glanced behind him for just a second at the two men who were with him and a look overcame him. It was a subtle expression, but it was one Ganbri knew well. He was contemplating the loss of his sons, and it broke his heart just to think about it.

And they were all listening to him now. "No one won the war in my world," Ganbri continued, carefully choosing what to say and what not to say. "Everyone lost. Everyone died. Even the planet was destroyed. I didn't mean to come here, but I thought of home when we went into the void and this is where I wound up."

It was the house his father grew up in. He'd seen images of it in Tokrah's head. This was the very room where he regenerated for the first time, laid out on the very table that the General was using, screaming and thrashing as his body changed. Banni had lived on the mountain across the field, and his fathers had run through the tall grass together as they grew from children to men. It seemed that, in a universe where Kahlia never became the Nightmare and the war carried on, Tokrah had gathered his family and turned his home into a military base. No doubt, he thought it was the best way to keep them all safe.

He wondered how many of the others that he'd seen walking in and out of the room were family members he'd never known. There was little time to wonder though. Without warning, the Master charged across the room towards him with his hand stretched out.

J.J. rolled and leapt off the cot so fast that Ganbri barely saw him and Tassiel wasn't able to stop him. He planted his feet in front of Ganbri with his teeth bared just as the Master was reaching him. The Master looked like he wasn't even paying attention when he dodged J.J.'s kick, feigned a strike aimed at his head, and then kicked him in the knee instead. He swooped his hand in to grab J.J. by the throat while he was still falling and pulled him back to his feet. It was fast and almost careless, and the Master's eyes barely looked at J.J. while he did it. J.J. thrashed and kicked while the Master lifted him up, the grip on his throat preventing him from being able to use his teeth.

"Don't hurt him!" Ganbri said quickly. "He's only protecting me."

The Master's eyes regarded him calmly, slowly taking him apart piece by piece, and began to raise his hand. J.J. kicked furiously as he was lifted from the floor, his hands clawing at the Master's arms so ferociously that Ganbri could see blood. It was scaring him that he couldn't hear so much as a gasp coming from J.J.'s mouth.

"Stop it!" Ganbri shouted angrily.

And then the Master smiled. "Protecting you?" he asked, almost sweetly. Then he dropped J.J. unceremoniously back onto the cot, leaving the Alreesh gasping loudly for breath and coughing. "A poor job of it. It's a wonder you're still alive."

"That was completely uncalled for," Tassiel scolded angrily, her hands gripping at J.J.'s arms in some effort to calm him. "You're going to throw the boy into a fit!"

"Maybe," the Master admitted with no trace of remorse in his voice. "But now I know the story is true. They're not from our universe. He's my son by the Doctor, the Time Lords are all dead, and Gallifrey is gone. Our Alreesh friend here sustained that injury in battle against _you_." He turned and looked pointedly at Kahlia, folding his arms in and looking at her in a way that showed he simultaneously disturbed and impressed. "It seems you turned out to be too much like me."

J.J. had begun to shake and twitch. He was still gasping for air but Ganbri knew it was more out of panic than necessity now. J.J. was always able to feel safe on some level, as long as he had his teeth, but being defeated so effortlessly and having his life literally in the hands of another person would have frightened him terribly. He might have just been strangled to death had the Master not decided to drop him, and he'd been powerless to save himself.

"You should have done that to me," Ganbri growled, glaring at the man before him.

"Time Lords are better are guarding their thoughts," the Master answered simply, snatching a cloth from Tassiel's table to wipe the blood from his arm. "And if you truly are _my_ son, I imagine you're better at it than most. It is an unfortunate way to establish the truth, but it's still better than killing the both of you to be safe."

"You," J.J. gasped, eyes wide and wild looking. " _Asshole_."

"Careful now," the Master said, smiling at him and tapping a single finger against his own head. "I know all your secrets. Besides, that's no way to speak to your favourite uncle."

"Don't let him rile you up," Tassiel said firmly, pushing against J.J.'s chest in an attempt to make him lie down again. "It's a hobby of his and he's good at it. Now sit still."

"Everyone, meet Ganbri," the Master announced loudly to the room. He turned to face Ganbri and nodded in the direction of the General. "Ganbri, meet your uncle, Jinnar. Your sister, Kahlia. Your brothers, Berran and Hannes— _not_ Wilson, thank you. And Tassiel . . . I suppose she'd be your stepmother—the Doctor's wife and mother to his children. Don't look so solemn, Tass. I'm sure you don't mind the Doctor's new living arrangements; you're dead in his world."

Tassiel smiled sweetly at him. "I was only wondering how many of our species had to die before the Doctor saw you as an option."

The Master chose to ignore the comment and addressed the room. "We've been fighting this war for years. Some of you have been fighting it your entire lives. Unfortunately, wars don't wait for the last one to end and we have a new enemy on our doorstep without our knowledge—a threat to our universe and all others. If there is _anything_ to be said about this family, it is that we _never_ sat idly by. We fight for our home. We fight for each other. Tonight, we will fight for our blood from across the void." He paused for just a second, deciding it to himself firmly before announcing, "Tonight, we take the Academy."

At the same moment, every Time Lord and Lady in the room straightened their spines and called out in unison, "Yes, Sir!" Ganbri looked at them all in awe, not entirely certain if he really understood what had just been decided.

The Master leaned towards him, his face spreading into a wicked grin. "We're getting you home, kid."


	22. Chapter 22: Kelevra

Kelevra had heard of Salem before, though he knew few of the details of its story. It had been presented to him as a fascinating subject, the promise of a unique and tragic tale. There was nothing unique about it. It was morbid and sad and stupid. A lot foolish people full of hate and fear killed one another without any good reason—there was nothing new about that.

He tried to recall what little he did know of the events, but the memory seemed dark and far away. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. Something wicked would happen in this town and people would die. It was the tale of every town he'd ever been to, only varying in the number of deaths and the manner in which they happened. It was the same where he came from. It was the same where Harry came from. He stared into the burning fire and tipped the last swallow of broth from his bowl to his mouth. Nothing new, indeed.

He might be stuck here forever.

Would he forget the others?

Would they forget him?

He felt his mouth twitch up at the corner. He did quite a lot to make sure that he was hard to forget. And if he forgot the others, he supposed it couldn't possibly bother him if he couldn't remember what he'd forgotten in the first place.

He cast a sideways glance at Harry. The man looked stressed beyond belief and miserable. He would be no good like that. With Harry's condition, stress was often accompanied by confusion, sometimes aggression. If something happened to Harry, Kel would likely never be able to leave. He would live out his life in Salem, his memory fading more with each year. Perhaps, in time, his mind would go enough for him to believe he belonged there. What a nice feeling that would be.

More likely he would die. He would do something wrong or say something wrong and be hanged as a witch. Or he would offend the wrong person in a time where an offense might be answered with a bullet or blade. He could never pass as human. He needed Harry.

He shifted in his seat, turning his attention to Harry in a more noticeable manner, and smiled. "Perhaps we'll find this little misadventure to be a blessing," he said. "You and I so rarely have time to talk."

"We rarely have anything to discuss," Harry answered with barely a thought.

"I disagree. We are both men of science and meeting someone of your intelligence is a rare opportunity. If you're too tired for such talk, well, we do both seem to enjoy tending to gardens."

Harry scoffed. "You and your fucking ferns."

"One of many projects. And I will admit that there are some I tend to without any true gains. Plants make for good companions."

Harry looked at him then—looked him in the eye. That was something he usually only saved for moments when he was angry and Kel quickly replayed what he'd said in his head, searching for the offense. He couldn't think of one. Had he forgotten already?

He didn't know what he'd done wrong so he didn't know what to say to fix it. Instead, he chose to smile and hoped that would do the trick.

Harry brows immediately locked together. "Don't do that," he grumbled, looking away.

"Do what?"

"Smile at me like that. I hate that smile you do."

Kel sighed and turned his eyes back to the fire. "So I'm told by many."

"Then why don't you just smile like a normal person?" Harry asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. "I know you can. I've seen you do it before."

"I don't know how," Kel admitted, keeping his eyes firmly on the fire, gripping the empty bowl in his hands and looking for leftover traces of its warmth. "I'm not sure what I do differently."

"How can you not know how to smile?"

"Inhabit the body of a fish and show me how fish smile," he answered quickly, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

For a long moment, they both stared into the fire. Kel listened to the spits and crackles and watched as a log inside began to slowly give way to the flames gently licking at it. Soon it would collapse gracelessly into the ash below and be truly consumed.

"It's the staring," Harry said quietly after a moment. "You need to relax your eyes and let the muscles around them move with the rest of your face." He paused for a moment, shifting in his seat as though uncomfortable, and added, "Think of something happy."

Vague and difficult, but it was better than what he usually got. 'Stop being creepy' was hardly a helpful criticism.

"I'll have to remember that."

Harry nodded slowly. "Now you have to tell me something."

Kel looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Because that's how you have a conversation," Harry answered, eyes fixed firmly on the fire. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes," Kel answered simply. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say for his part. He supposed he could mention gardening again, but Harry had not seemed interested in that subject. "I know a joke," he offered.

Harry scoffed but Kel saw the corner of his mouth move upwards in the hint of a smile. "You know a joke," he repeated with a tone of disbelief.

"I do," Kel confirmed. "What's the difference between a chicken?"

Harry's eyebrows moved together. "Between a chicken and what?"

"Just a chicken."

"What's the difference between two chickens?"

"No," Kel smiled. "What's the difference between a chicken?"

Harry looked right at him and scowled. "That makes no sense."

"It's a joke, not a riddle."

Harry sighed. "Fine. What's the difference between a chicken?"

Kel grinned widely. "One leg's the same."

Kel had not understood what Doug found so hilarious about that joke when he told it, but seeing the look of confusion and near-disgust on Harry's face when he turned to look at him suddenly made it make sense. He remembered Doug laughing so hard that he could scarcely breathe and found himself chuckling.

"That's a fucking stupid joke," Harry muttered, still looking at him with that mix of confusion and irritation.

"Only if you're the one hearing it."

Harry shook his head and said nothing. Kel wondered if he'd irritated him. Harry did not like to be made to look like a fool, which was, after all, the whole point of the joke. He probably should have just stuck with gardening. They sat in silence for a long time after that with only the occasional comment or question. Harry still shivered every once in a while and Kel wondered if he'd caught a chill in the river. He really hoped not. Stranded and stressed were bad enough; they didn't need sick added to the list too.

Customers began to slowly disappear. There was a last call for soup or chicken before the cook went home for the night and a few men hung around afterwards for drinks. Another hour later, Bridget shooed them from the tavern too. For one tense moment, when Bridget turned to look at them and placed her hands on her hips, Kel wondered if she meant to turn them out into the snow too.

"I don't suppose you two have anywhere to go, do you?" she asked, not unkindly.

"No, ma'am," Kel answered quietly.

"My friend here is a doctor," Harry added quickly. "And I can build or fix almost anything. We could provide many useful services in exchange for a room."

"And food and clothes," Bridget said, looking pointedly at the shirts that hung loosely on them and the empty bowls in their hands.

"We're both skilled and strong," Harry answered, sounding a little more eager than before. "And no strangers to hard work. Anything you need handled, we can handle it."

Bridget raised an eyebrow and had the look of someone resisting the urge to make a crude joke. "Well, I'm no murderer," she said instead. "And turning you out in this cold would make me as good as that. You'll have a roof over your heads and food in your bellies so long as you earn it."

"Thank you." Harry gave her one of his most charming smiles and Kel saw the stiffness in her posture soften a little. Harry had always been good at charming people. It seemed to be the sort of thing that was more of an art than a science, and seemingly impossible in an alien host. Still, Kel tried his best to mimic the smile. Bridget didn't look at him like it had bothered her so he considered that a success.

"You said you're a doctor?" she asked, nodding in Kel's direction.

"Yes ma'am."

"My husband's been complaining of an ear ache for a week now. If it doesn't soon sort itself, I'm more like than not to kill him."

Good. He liked an opportunity to prove himself useful. He didn't remember much of what he'd learned about this period of Earth's history, but he knew that a proven doctor was welcome anywhere.

"I should be able to help. Where might I find him?"

"God knows."

He glanced at Harry, hoping for some kind of intervention. He wasn't entirely sure if she might be referencing a real person or not. In a time period known for such a religious population, was it possible that people might actually name their children 'God'? He suspected not. Though 'Jesus' seemed popular enough in some places . . .

"I doubt we'll be stepping through the door again before morning," Harry cut in, to Kel's immeasurable relief. "We'll be here whenever he wants seeing to."

"I doubt he'll be stepping through the door before morning," Bridget answered with a huff, crossing her arms. "Doesn't matter much. Should the ear take him before you see him, I can cry like a proper wife and proclaim loudly that I'd sought out a doctor for him, only too late. Might stop the whispers." She paused and looked them both up and down with a sideways glance, squinting at them. "You two ought to get some sleep," she said finally. "You're likely enough to fall ill as it is. You need your rest."

Harry began to stand up immediately and muttered some form of agreement, so Kel followed his lead. Bridget told them where her room could be found upstairs, should they need her. She then told them that they had better not dare to wake her for anything short of someone being near death.

"And if they're already dead, don't bother," she added sternly. "The dead don't grow any more dead if they're kept waiting. Bodies will keep until morning."

Kel felt himself smirking in amusement. What would Bridget say if she knew that her words were being heard through a dead man's ears? He suspected she'd probably do little more than shrug and tell him that if a dead man's ears could hear, then a dead man's hands could work. She'd be right, of course.

Their room was drafty and cold. It wouldn't hurt him, but Kel had never cared for the cold. He'd always tried to find bodies that were built for the cold in the past, but humans tended to be relatively hairless and the healthy ones weren't very well insulated. He eyed the thick layers of quilts and pelts on the beds and wondered which might be warmer.

Harry was trembling ever so slightly. He was doing rather well at suppressing it—always so uncomfortable showing weakness—but it was there. It must have been at least a few hours since he'd dressed in dry clothes, been fed, and sat in front of the fire, but the chill of the river clearly ran deep. His fingers were ever so clumsy as he worked at the buttons of his shirt, but Kel couldn't see any discolouration to indicate frostbite. He looked at the beds carefully again and chose the one nearest the window, quickly pulling his shirt over his head without unbuttoning it so that he could toss it onto the bed to claim it as his own before Harry did.

Harry shook his head at him. "You're supposed to undo the buttons first. You'll rip them off doing that."

Kel blinked innocently. "I always just pull them over my head."

"And how often do you lose buttons?"

He pretended to consider it a moment. "Often," he lied.

Harry nodded knowingly. "That's why."

Once they were both in their beds and the lamp was blown out, Kel laid awake for a long time. He listened and felt for the electrical impulses coming from Harry's body. He was doing his best to put on a brave face but, once he fell asleep, Kel began to get a better idea of how he was doing. He shuddered in his sleep once in a while and pulled the blankets in tight. His hearts were beating a little faster than Kel cared for but did not seem overly distressed. He was clearly uncomfortable but did not seem to be in any real danger. Kel felt content that, physically at least, Harry would be fine.

He tried to sleep. It didn't work. His mind wouldn't rest, and so his body wouldn't either. He stared at the ceiling, listening to Harry's breathing and the whistling wind outside. He wondered who was left at Torchwood and how they were managing. Had the Bad Wolf found them? Was anyone hurt or dead? He supposed they had the Doctor to help with any medical crises, assuming nothing had happened to him. He worried about Doug and hoped that Kevin was taking care of him, wherever they had gone. Mostly he wondered how they were ever going to find their way back.

He woke to find Harry sitting on the edge of his own bed, staring at him with a look that he couldn't quite identify. "I kind of expected you to sleep like a vampire," Harry said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know, all rigid and unmoving."

It took Kel a moment to regain awareness of his own body. He'd moved around a lot in his sleep, as he so often did. The draft coming from the window must have bothered him more than he anticipated because he'd managed to twist around and completely wrap himself in blankets, like a cocoon, before turning away from the window and scooting as close to the far edge of his bed as he could. He'd even managed to make a sort of hood over his head, protecting the back of his host's neck, and therefore his true self, from the cold that radiated from the window behind him.

"It stands to reason that I'm not in control of this body when I'm asleep," he answered, frowning slightly. "It does what it wants."

"I didn't think the dead wanted anything," Harry said with a shrug. "But apparently being a caterpillar is on the list."

"Clearly not," he answered with more irritation in his voice than intended. "Caterpillars cocoon themselves in order to not be caterpillars."

Harry seemed to be a morning person. He didn't move slowly and groan like so many others did. He was light on his feet and his eyes seemed well aware as he shook out the blankets of his bed and made it presentable again. Kel never understood the point of making a bed. Making the bed before it had had a chance to properly air out and dry any sweat made it a nesting haven for bacteria, and people didn't tend to use or even look at their beds until the moment they were about to get into them again and 'unmake' them anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made his bed. Perhaps he never had. If he never made it back, he wondered who would eventually be sent to clear out his flat and discover his untidy, never-made bed.

He struggled to untangle himself from his cocoon, a little annoyed that Harry was able to watch him wiggling about in such an undignified manner. He usually managed to keep up certain appearances in front of other people, but he never slept in the same room as other people and had never learned or even thought of how to manage such appearances when waking up. He was always clumsy and uncoordinated in the morning as it always took a little while to adapt to his host body again. He narrowly avoided falling out of the bed entirely and shot a quick glance at Harry, wondering if he'd seen.

He made his bed when he got up, keeping one eye on Harry to see if he was watching or not. His hands were clumsy, but he managed to cover up most of his mistakes by pretending to stretch or yawn or simply get distracted by something. Eventually, his body seemed to reconnect properly with his host's nervous system and motor function crept back up to full control.

It was then that he started to think about what he may have forgotten. It took a little while to remember where they were and why they were sleeping in the same room. He remembered that he'd promised to do something for the woman who owned the place, but he wasn't sure what. He had little to offer besides his intellect and doctors were valuable in this time period, so he quickly decided that must have been it. And he was supposed to be watching Harry for something . . .

He looked at Harry and tried to remember. He seemed comfortable—making himself quite at home in their shared room. He watched him carefully, looking for some hint that would help him remember. He must have looked for too long because Harry noticed and shot him a funny look. He quickly turned his eyes downward and reached for the jacket he'd left hanging on the bed post, digging through the pockets in search of his little container of mints. It was time for his sense tests.

Kel popped a mint in his mouth and took a moment to make sure that nothing about it tasted odd. He closed his eyes and listened carefully to the soft rustling sounds of Harry's movements. He took a deep breath and smelled old wood settled with dust and smoke. He lifted one foot from the ground, slowly drawing up his knee, and let his body sway the way it seemed to naturally want to. He did not fall over or tip too far. He carefully returned his foot to the floor and turned, stretching his hand towards the window and feeling the cold that surrounded it, before returning the same hand to his own neck to feel the heat of the blood moving beneath his flesh. He was just reaching to pinch the cartilage of his ear when Harry cleared his throat quite noticeably.

He opened his eyes and looked over at the Time Lord, feeling a twinge of irritation. "Did you have something to share, pet?"

"You do that every morning?"

"Yes."

Harry tilted his head a little, the way Edmund did whenever Kel taught him something new. He opened his mouth once or twice as though he were trying to say something, but didn't. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he said softly. Without another word, Harry sat down on the foot of his bed, closed his eyes, and sat perfectly still.

Kel chose to ignore him for the time being and focus on finishing his tests. He took deep breaths in to feel his lungs and diaphragm stretching and paid close attention to any pangs of thirst or hunger. He made his hands meet behind his back and then brought them to the front again, matching fingertip to fingertip without looking. Eventually he moved on to his mental preparations—safeguards against the clever and telepathic alike. He dug up memory after memory, forcing moments of rage and grief and fear, simply so that he could calmly tuck them away. He felt a little swell in his throat, but that was the worst of it this morning.

When he opened his eyes, he felt as though he had complete control of his body and that his mind was made of steel. He slept as a thrashing corpse, woke trapped in a cocoon, and emerged as the man he had created for himself. Doctor Kelevra Presley.

The other man in the room sat in silence a little longer, not moving a muscle. After a time, he emerged as well. Professor Harold Mott.

Harry gave him an odd smile that he couldn't quite interpret. "We should get out there."

The tavern was quiet but the fire was going. A couple of muffled taps and scrapes through the wall told them that someone was working in the kitchen, but Bridget as nowhere to be seen. Harry nudged Kel with his elbow and drew his attention to the front door, where two shovels, two coats, and two pairs of gloves had been neatly set aside.

The storm had stopped in the night and left the morning peaceful. The sun shone down on them as they cleared the path and Kel quickly felt his body warming up. Within half an hour, Harry was removing his coat and letting his skin soak in the sun. There was no sound but that of their shovels slicing through the snow and their shoes trampling it down. It was strangely pleasant.

"The Doctor's probably having a complete melt-down," Harry muttered after a while. "Imagining every possible scenario of pain and death—killing himself with worry. And we're shovelling snow, waiting for breakfast."

"I'm sure he would be delighted to hear it."

"Will be," Harry corrected firmly.

Kel looked up, blinking. "Of course," he said. "Would you care to tell me how it will come to be?"

Harry's brows locked together and he looked down, driving his shovel into the snow with a little more force than before. "I've travelled a lot. I've learned a lot of things." He paused and licked his lips. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeves."

Kel looked him up and down curiously. "I've heard that you brought yourself back from the dead several times," he piped up. "Even when you had no body to return to."

Harry nodded, looking up but not quite meeting Kel's eye. "That would be one of the tricks," he muttered. "I have several that are similar in their execution . . . One that might get us home."

Yes, Kel had heard the stories. He'd even done some research to learn how it was done. He could never find quite enough details to know the entire process and the stories always varied greatly, but certain elements always remained the same—a chemical recipe, a cauldron, and human sacrifice.

In short, Harry was skilled in witchcraft.

"Then the Doctor will be delighted to hear that you simply shovelled snow and waited for breakfast," Kel said quietly. "When we go home."

Harry nodded slowly. "When we go home."

The door banged open behind them and Bridget stood in the doorway. "Looks good, boys," she said with an approving nod. "Take a break and come in for breakfast. The snow will wait."


	23. Chapter 23: Doug

Doug found himself strangely relaxed, given the situation. They were lost on a strange planet with no supplies, communication devices, or way home, following a mysterious stranger into the depths of a dark cave, and yet he was calm. Kevin looked nervous and jittery, his eyes watching everything. Doug supposed that was smart, but he just couldn't seem to be bothered.

The woman wore clothing and appeared healthy, which meant that she likely came from a well-established group. It was possible they had technology that could help. At the very least, they had somewhere safe to stay. He just hoped that her intentions were friendly. It would be hard to know without being able to speak with her.

"You don't have a translator, do you?" he asked, glancing at Kevin. The woman immediately whipped around, that panicked look on her face again, and repeated her gesture for quiet. He tried his best to look apologetic but didn't think it looked convincing. He just wasn't sure he bought it—if the cave was so unstable, what the hell was she doing there? She didn't have any tools or even a bag to show that she might have been collecting something. It made him think that she probably lived somewhere in the cave and it wouldn't make sense to live somewhere that could kill you if you sneezed.

Doug tried to remember everything that Nista had ever taught him when it came to being aware of his surroundings. He looked for any sign of a trap or an ambush but there wasn't much to see besides rock and the occasional plant and, even if there were more to see, the shifting shadows of the torch made it difficult to get a really good look. He eyed the woman leading them and noticed how small she was. It looked like her bones would be thinner than a human—more delicate. If she was considered average for her species, he figured he could take at least a few in a fight, should it come to that.

Finally, there was light coming from somewhere up ahead. He didn't hear any voices but there was sound. Taps and scrapes, maybe even a few footsteps. If they were going to meet with something unpleasant, it was likely to be around the next corner. He glanced over at Kevin and saw that he'd tensed up a little, his hand lingering not too far from the gun on his hip. Doug rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

And breath swept out of him in a heartbeat.

They turned the corner to find a city. The cave opened up into a series of massive caverns that were crawling with life. Stone columns eight storeys tall stretched up from the ground and supported the domed ceiling, small structures built from wood and foliage lined every side, and sections of wall had been cut out to reveal a small creek running through a tunnel in the stone. There were windows carved into the walls and columns, showing that every inch of it had been converted into usable space, and the space in between the windows was thickly blanketed in variety of mosses and vines. He even spotted a couple of people reaching out of their windows to harvest from the growths on the walls. There must have been hundreds of people living there.

Doug's mouth dropped open. "Holy fuck." His voice boomed through the silence and dozens of pink and red and orange eyes turned in his direction, widening. "Sorry," he added sheepishly, and even that sounded too loud. Their guide looked at him with a pleading look, as if begging him to shut up.

He clamped his lips tightly together and tried his best to hold his thoughts in. The entire city barely breathed. Somehow, people were going about their days without making the slightest sound. He could see groups of people gathered together, clearly communicating somehow. There were people sitting at workbenches outside of their home, carving and painting and creating all manner of items. He noticed some people with stalls along what looked like the main street of the city, closing up shop for the night. And all of it in near perfect silence.

Doug became extremely aware of how loud his breathing his was, how loud his feet fell with each step. He was just so big and heavy compared to everyone around him and suddenly each step felt like a gun going off in his ears. It didn't seem possible for that many people to be so quiet.

Their guide handed their torch off to someone in passing and made a couple of hand gestures, which the stranger answered with more gestures before disappearing with the torch. Their guide did not stop and the stranger did nothing to communicate with them, so Doug mentally reminded himself to stay silent and continued following. No one seemed to pay them much mind as long as they were quiet.

Several minutes later, they were led to another tunnel that led away from the city. This tunnel opened to another cavern, but this one looked as though it had collapsed a long time ago. The ceiling was open to the night sky, letting the starlight pour in. Two moons were visible—one was tiny and brown, while the other was only slightly smaller than Earth's moon and had a pink tint to it. Their light reflected off the surface of a large pool beneath the open mouth that seemed to feed the creek he'd seen earlier. Just looking at it, Doug could tell that it was very deep and probably carried on for miles just beneath the surface. Pretty though.

There were no shelters or shop stalls in here. A few people lingered beside the pool or near the walls, but they began to find their way out as soon as they saw that strangers had arrived. Even their guide, with a pleading look and a gesture to stay, slipped away into the shadows and vanished.

Doug glanced nervously at Kevin. "Do you think we can talk now?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Kevin whispered back.

"This is fucking crazy," he muttered quickly. "No one making a goddamn peep. How fucking unstable are these caves?"

Kevin nudged him with his elbow to draw his attention to one of the cavern's entrances. A woman was approaching them. She looked similar to the one who had guided them there, but her clothing was more elaborate. The sleeves of her shirt and the legs of her trousers were very loose and flowed behind her like red smoke. Her eyes were bright orange and nearly glowed in the darkness but her smile was kind and her body so tiny that Doug felt certain his hands could wrap all the way around her waist.

She bowed her head low when she reached them, allowing her whole body to bend and nearly touching her forehead to Doug's knee. It suddenly made him feel a little uncomfortable that he was so much larger than her—Celeste had always taught him to remember that his stature alone might frighten people without him realizing it—and so, while Kevin returned the bow, Doug got down to one knee and bowed his head even lower than hers had been. When he looked up, she was smiling widely at him, clearly pleased.

He looked up at her, unsure of what was expected of him next. "I'm Doug," he blurted.

She didn't flinch or widen her eyes when he spoke. Instead, she held her hand out towards him with her palm facing upwards. An invitation? Or perhaps a request? He wasn't sure.

He glanced back at Kevin. "What do I do?" he asked in a worried whisper.

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. I think you're supposed to take her hand."

That sounded pretty reasonable. Doug raised his hand slowly, trying to make his intended action obvious. The woman simply continued to smile at him, unflinching, waiting.

He felt something when he touched her skin. A sudden rush of warmth spread through his hand and he immediately began to feel tired, like all the energy was suddenly draining from him through his fingertips. The shock of it was strong enough that it took him a moment to notice the orange light that seemed to be drifting from his body and into hers.

"Doug?" Kevin sounded nervous. "What's happening?"

He didn't know. For a moment, it was like he couldn't speak. His mouth and his tongue would move when he asked them to but he couldn't remember the words. And what would he say anyway? He wasn't feeling any pain, but that didn't mean he wasn't being hurt. He didn't know what was happening.

The light died away before any true panic set in. He felt drained and exhausted, but that seemed the worst of it. The woman let go and placed her hands on his shoulders instead, gently squeezing them as if to offer comfort. That's what Celeste always did, even when they were little. She was never really one to give hugs—he had to be crying pretty hard for her to do that—but she was always ready to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. Even now that they were grown and he was taller than her, she didn't hesitate to reach up to him.

And then he knew what she'd done.

He cleared his throat and looked up at her, feeling his strength slowly return to him. "I'm Doug," he repeated. "This is my friend, Kevin."

The woman bowed her head again. "I am Inai," she answered in perfect English. Even her accent was a perfect mimic of his own. "Please know that I welcome you into our home in peace."

"Thank you." He groaned in a way that made him feel old when he pulled himself to his feet. The drained feeling was quickly fading, but he still felt as though he were standing up for the first time in the morning.

"Please excuse any confusion," Inai began quickly. "Most guests to our city understand our customs before they come here. It's usually been explained. Someone must have fucked up."

Kevin coughed. "What?"

Doug couldn't help but grin. "She's learned English from me."

Inai nodded quickly. "It's a memory transfer. I accept the memories of language from our guests so that we can communicate. I would have explained before taking them, but it's really fucking difficult to explain when you can't talk."

Kevin shot a glare at him. "She had to learn it from you? What are her next English-speaking guests going to think when she's dropping F-bombs every ten seconds?"

"They'll probably have a better time."

Kevin just shook his head. "Inai, we're lost. Can you tell us where we are?"

She blinked at them curiously. "You didn't come here to visit?"

"No," Doug answered truthfully. "We have no fucking clue where we are."

Inai bowed her head again and began to speak in a way that showed she'd clearly given the same speech a thousand different times before. "Here, in these caves, is the intergalactically renowned Memory Market. We have many skilled artisans who create beautiful paintings, jewelry, pottery, and, of course, memories. The Market is open for any to explore and method of payment is flexible with most merchants, though memories are preferred." She motioned upwards to the open sky above them. "At the moment, we are in what is known as the Sanctuary or, to some, the Temple. It is a place reserved for worship, song, and conversing during the sacred hours." She paused and looked down at the two of them, seeming to remember that they lacked the information that most tourists were given beforehand. "The sacred hours are from dusk to dawn," she explained, smiling. "Whenever the sun is not in the sky, speaking is forbidden and all noise is to be kept to a minimum anywhere outside of the Sanctuary."

Doug looked up at the broken ceiling skeptically. "You guys get cave-ins all the time or something?"

Inai dropped the presentation act and spoke more casually. "It's all just old traditions, really. Our people didn't even have speech until a few hundred years ago because the caves would fall in with too much noise, but it was really fucking dangerous outside at night. There's a lot of shit out there that can eat you, you know?" She caught the way Kevin was looking at her and tilted her head curiously, but carried on without asking him what was wrong. "The only time it was safe to make noise was when they were outside, during the day. So they began to worship the sun because it seemed to be what kept them safe, and song became the method of worship because sound was considered rare and sacred. Then a traveler came from another world and taught the Sun Singers how to fortify the caves and to grow plants along the walls to help absorb sound. She made the caves safe, but the traditions and beliefs stuck. Once our home became such a popular place to visit, we had to adapt to keep our traditions while also accomodating our guests. At first, only the Sanctuary allowed for speech, but it was too hard for guests to trade in the Market. Eventually, the people allowed for speech during the day, when the Sun is watching and protecting them, but speech at night is only allowed in the Sanctuary."

Kevin looked up at the gaping hole above them. "But it's still night. There's no sun. How is that supposed to work?"

Inai shrugged her shoulders. "The wildlife is not as dangerous as it once was. The official reason is that the Sun can still see us as long as we are open to the sky, but really it's just because we couldn't get people to shut the fuck up at night. Some sort of space needed to be made available. I mean, technically I'm a Priestess but, these days, that just means I'm a tour guide."

Doug grinned. "You explain it to everyone this way?"

She shook her head and gave them a sly smile. "No. But you're not tourists. You didn't come here to shop."

Kevin was eagerly searching the sky above them for signs of satellites or ships. "What's your offworld travel like?"

"It's not our specialty," Inai answered, looking a little ashamed. "But with so many visitors that come and go, we've never found it difficult to find passage offworld."

"You get time travelers ever?" Doug blurted out. When Inai blinked at him he just shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what fucking year it is. It's a valid question."

"Maybe . . ." Inai answered slowly. "How exactly did you get here?"

"Touched something I shouldn't have, blinked, and found myself up a fucking tree."

Inai blinked again and then smiled. "The universe is full of mysteries."

She continued to explain the workings of the Market to them, where it seemed the primary currency was memories. Doug thought that was lucky right up until he remembered the sensitive nature of his work and, more specifically, the people he worked with. Still, he supposed he had thirty years of pre-Torchwood memories that would be safe to share. Inai explained that unique memories, emotionally charged memories, and educational memories were worth the most and Doug felt that, between the two of them, he and Kevin should have enough to get by until they were able to find a way home.

"We can't do that . . ." Doug gestured with his hands, trying to mimic the movement of the orange light that left him. "Thing."

"Priests and Priestesses work throughout the Market. They process all transactions for both buyer and seller, assuming they can't do it themselves."

Doug nodded, smirking. All the memories and none of the product—the Sanctuary was making nothing but pure profit off of that system.

A few Singers had wandered into the Sanctuary by then. They knelt before the pool, under the open sky, and began to sing a high and sweet melody. Doug felt that they should leave the cavern so as not to disturb them, but Inai made no move to leave.

She explained the layout of the city a little better, mostly making sure they understood what areas of the Market sold what kinds of product. She told them that their best chance of finding a ride offworld would be to look for buyers in the mechanic section of the Market, and that there might even be travelers advertising for passengers. Custom dictated that visitors were treated as guests on their first night so, at least until the morning, they didn't need to worry about finding a bed or food.

"The Priests and Priestesses of the Sanctuary take care of guests," she smiled and bowed her head low once more. "If it pleases you, I would have you as my guests this night."

Inai's home was a small alcove carved off the side of the Sanctuary. It was clear to look at it that it had been built more for accomodating guests than for the person who actually lived there. Inai's room was so small there was barely room for her bed and belongings, but the guest rooms were far more spacious and the ceilings were much higher. He supposed they had to be when they had no idea how big their guests were going to be.

"I'll find you when the sun rises," Inai said after she'd shown them their beds, bowing her head low.

Doug and Kevin returned the bow and waited for her to leave the room before beginning to undress. Doug didn't realize how many scratches and bruises he'd gained from being trapped in the tree until he took his shirt off and had a good look at himself. Kevin wasn't nearly so damaged, but he had a pretty impressive bruise on his ribs from where he'd hit the ground.

"Could have been worse," Kevin muttered with a shrug. "Could've landed in a prickle bush."

The walls of their room were thickly coated with foliage. He spotted at least five different kinds of vines and something that looked like fungus, covering every inch of stone, so thick in some areas that he couldn't even find the wall behind them. It was strange but it did have a nice, cozy feel to it, and it was certainly warmer than he'd ever expect a cave so deep to be.

The weight of their situation seemed to be sinking in as they prepared for bed. They were lost. And not lost in the sense that they could ask for directions or just find a river and follow it. He was only realizing that now. They were lost and there was little to nothing they could do about it. They didn't know where they were, when they were, and they didn't understand enough about the universe to put any answer they got into context . . . assuming they were even still in the same universe they were used to.

That thought made his blood run cold. Space travel was one thing, and time travel was a whole other, complicated mess, but universal travel? Doug was good with computer code and most gadgets, but he was nowhere near qualified to be trying to pull a stunt like that. And Kevin was a medical assistant . . .

He glanced at Kevin and saw that he must have been realizing the same thing. His face looked drawn and pale, almost like he was ready to throw up.

How long would it be before someone thought to tell Jenny? He hadn't told anyone about them, not even Celeste. She'd probably spend a few days internally cursing him out for not calling her or responding to her messages until she finally lost her temper and demanded that Ganbri or someone tell her where to find him. She'd probably be ready to kick his ass, and then she'd feel guilty when she found out the truth. Would she wait to see if he'd come back?

His whole body ached with weariness when he laid down and he willed the weight on him away. He didn't want to think about how hopeless their situation was. He didn't want to think about how much he would miss out on, spending the rest of his life in a cave where no one spoke. He just wanted to forget and sleep. It was hard to forget when the bed felt so strange—like it was stuffed full of some kind of jelly—but he decided it was comfortable enough that he should just be happy. He laid there and stared at the leafy ceiling for a long time, knowing that he wasn't going to sleep any time soon but continuing to try anyway. Kevin's breathing suggested that he was doing the same thing.

"So . . ." he began after an unbearably long silence. "Ganbri told me that he bunked with you and Nista. What was that like?"

"Crowded." Kevin's voice sounded weak and tired, but Doug knew that it wasn't because he wanted sleep.

"Probably awkward as fuck, right?"

Kevin took a slow, deep breath. "Not really. He just went to sleep."

"What about Nista? What's that like?"

"Doug—"

"I'm so curious," Doug blurted out quickly. "For real. Everyone wants to ask you this shit."

"And they don't because it's none of their business," Kevin answered firmly.

"Come on," Doug whined, sitting up in his bed completely so that he could look over at the other man. "There's no one else here. I'm not gonna tell anyone. You have to wanna talk about it a little. Let's slumber party up this situation and talk about boys and shit."

Kevin glared at him silently.

"That was not meant, in any way, to imply you're a girl," he added quickly.

Another moment of silence and then Kevin sighed heavily. "He catches his teeth on me sometimes," he muttered impatiently, gesturing to a half healed scratch on his chest. "They're sharper than you think. I've bled a few times."

"Does he hog the covers?"

"No."

"Does he fart a lot in his sleep?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Doug, go to sleep!" Kevin quickly turned over to face the other wall, and pulled all his limbs in close.

Doug waited a moment to see if he'd say or do anything more, but he didn't. "Do you guys have nicknames for each other?"

"Doug!"

"Legitimate question!"

"What the hell kind of nicknames are you even expecting to hear?"

"I don't know . . . Jacky?"

He saw Kevin's cheek move in a way that suggested he'd earned a smile. "I'm pretty sure he'd bite my face off if I ever called him Jacky. Literally."

Doug grinned and began to sing softly. "Oh, Jacky-boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling . . ."

Finally, a laugh. Well, little more than a chuckle, really, but it was something. He'd take any light he could get, no matter how small, with the giant shadow that loomed over them so menacingly, whispering dark thoughts of never making it home. Even just a chuckle helped.

He let that little moment of triumph linger, just to enjoy it, but it was long enough for Kevin to think.

"I was gonna talk to him," he said quietly. "We agreed we were gonna talk once things had settled down a little bit." He cleared his throat and took another deep breath, still stubbornly facing the wall. "He wants to get away from Jack. You know, just some distance. I was gonna ask him to move in with me."

"You tried that," Doug offered gently. "It didn't work out."

"Circumstances were different," Kevin answered without hesitation. "It would be different."

Doug waited to see if any more information would be offered, but Kevin stayed quiet. It hurt to talk about, he could understand that—to talk about the things that might have been or would have been when faced with the possibility of losing it. He would just have to make sure that Kevin didn't lose the future he was expecting. He didn't want to lose the future he was expecting with Jenny either.

"So we've gotta get back so you can have that talk, huh?"

"Yeah."

Doug sighed, trying to formulate a plan in his head. "Well, hey, don't worry. Tomorrow, we're gonna get everything we need from the Market and get to work. Give me a week. Just think of it like a week's vacation. Give Jacky-boy a little time away so that he remembers how much it fucking sucks not having you around."

"Thanks, Doug."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, filling himself with solid determination. "Thank me in a week."

Kevin finally rolled over then, facing Doug with half a smile on his face. "Your turn to talk about boys."

He blinked. "Well, I can talk about Jenny."

"You're the one who said boys. You made the rules."

He shrugged. "What do you want? Like, a sex story?"

Kevin's eyes widened greatly. "You have one?"

"I can make something up."


	24. Chapter 24: Rose

Rose waited quietly while Shaun and Annie continued to talk. He had little more information on the Doctor's activity or the shadows that haunted the city—or, at least, little more that he was willing to share. She suspected there were details he left out. At this point, he just wanted to know a little bit about his daughter and her life. He wanted to know if she went to school, where she worked, how her mother was. Rose could hear the loneliness aching in his voice with every question.

She explored the small station that served as Torchwood while they spoke, taking in every detail she could. They lived here. It wasn't like in the other two worlds she'd known, where Torchwood was simply where the team worked. Shower curtains had been nailed to the customer service desk and the ceiling above it to make the area behind it private. When she looked behind the desk, she found a makeshift bed on the floor, a couple of bags stuffed with clothes, and a variety of small knick-knacks. An old maintenance closet had another bed and more clothing that appeared to be Shaun's. A storage room for the shop revealed a third bed and more personal items, as well as a photograph taped to the wall. Though still tall as ever, Doug was remarkably skinny in it—half the size of the man she'd met—but his grin and cheerful eyes were unmistakable. She thought it might be best not to linger there.

Graphs and maps and notes were everywhere. She spotted detailed drawings of a device that looked like it was meant to be some sort of crown, though the drawing revealed a variety of technological components inside. She didn't understand most of the mess of notes scribbled around it, but it was clear that it was a blueprint of some kind.

She found the crown itself sitting on a desk not far away. It wasn't finished, with bits of wire sticking out and chunks of the covering missing. There were a few old computer chips on the desk that were blackened and burnt and countless more pages of notes. It seemed that this was one of the details that Shaun had chosen to leave out.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the air and Rose tensed. She shot a look over at Shaun and he simply shook his head.

"They scream, but that's the only sound they make." He didn't reach for his gun. "It's Celeste and Sandra."

"What if it's people?"

He looked sad and almost amused at the same time. "There are no other people."

Sure enough, only two women came walking down the tracks. Rose recognized Celeste, even though she was a wisp of the woman she'd met in the other world. She still had enough visible muscle to look intimidating, but not as much as the woman Rose had met, and she looked battered and malnourished. She was covered in scrapes and bruises and her right eye was gone, leaving only a mass of scarred flesh and a small patch that made poor attempts to cover the empty socket.

Doctor Sandra Kapoor looked like she fared only a little better in this world. She had both of her eyes, but Rose noticed a multitude of half-healed wounds and scars, and a slight limp that she looked comfortable enough with to suggest she had had it for a long time.

Sandra climbed up the boxes they'd piled next to the tracks to get onto the platform. "He's moving. We spotted the King only a mile and a half to the west," she announced loudly, dusting her hands off on her trousers before looking up. "Hello, Annabelle. Rose."

Rose blinked. "You know me too?"

Sandra nodded. "You've been here once before. No, twice," Sandra answered, sounding tired and rather uninterested. "Nice to see you."

"Twice?" She looked quickly to Celeste as she climbed onto the platform. "What happened to me?"

"You're not supposed to ask that," Celeste answered with the same tired voice. "But we're one for one."

Her eyes widened. "Well, what happened to the one?"

"I told you," Celeste answered quickly, sounding a little irritable. "You're not supposed to fucking ask."

"You're dead, honey. It doesn't matter how it happened," Sandra cut in. Somehow, she managed to say it in a way that almost sounded sympathetic. "Now, sorry, but we've got more important things to worry about. Shaun, did you hear me?"

Shaun gave Annie a quick nod and jumped up from his seat. "The King is west?"

"He's not just west. He's west and moving south, checking the rift points."

"What's that mean?" Annie asked nervously.

"It means he knows you're here," Shaun answered quickly, stepping up to one of the computers and beginning to type rapidly. "It's looking for where you came through, trying to find you."

Rose scowled. "I thought you said there weren't any other people?"

"He's not a person," Sandra answered quietly.

Rose made a sideways glance at the half built crown sitting on the desk. "If he's not a person, then what is he?"

Shaun's face hardened as he typed and his voice came out in a near growl. "It's the Doctor's weapon."

She looked at the crown on the desk again and imagined some kind of android, or maybe even a cyborg. "Do you use that to control it?"

Shaun followed her eyes and seemed to freeze, taking a second too long to think before answering slowly. "If it worked, yes."

"The Doctor has one," Rose added, not really asking that time.

Celeste stepped forward, looking at her with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "You know about that shit?" she asked gesturing towards the crown. "I've been trying to build that fucking thing for three years, so if you know about it, you better tell me."

Rose quickly took a step back. "I don't know how it works," she admitted quickly. "You said there's some kind of weapon you call a King and there's something that looks like a crown. The two just seemed to go together."

Celeste narrowed her eyes for a second and then relaxed, looking a little disappointed. "The King wears the receiver and the Doctor wears the transmitter. We've been trying to replicate the transmitter to take control of the King and cut the Doctor's power off at the source."

"Without the King, he has nothing," Sandra added quietly.

Rose crossed her arms. "He's the Doctor. If you lot know much about him, then you know that he doesn't need—"

"Yeah, you were his fucking cheerleader last time too," Celeste snapped suddenly. "And then he killed you."

"Reel it in, Burke," Sandra said firmly. Then she looked at Rose and continued in a steady, calm voice. "We know he's smart. We know he's resourceful. Most of all, we know he's dangerous. Taking the King from him might not be enough to stop him—hell, it might even make him worse—but it's the biggest wound we can give him. We take away his army, he hit him where it hurts, and we decide from there how to finish the job. Unless you have a better plan, I suggest you don't throw doubt on the only one we've got, especially because it's our best chance at getting you home."

Sandra's words sunk in slowly. And all the while, Celeste's words echoed around it: _And then he killed you_. Did she mean that literally? Had the Doctor actually killed her? Had he done it on purpose?

"How would you get us home?" Annie's quiet voice broke the silence.

Eyes turned to Celeste, who crossed her arms and sighed heavily. "The Doctor has portals that open the path to other universes. He has several stationed around the city, using the rift to power them. We track the rift activity to figure out which portals are going to be powered and when, then we smuggle you through it."

Rose glanced up at the solid rock above her. "But those things out there . . ."

"They tend to be pretty unorganized when the King isn't around. If we're quiet and careful, we can avoid them." Celeste looked at the crown on the desk, curling her lip up as though it were the ugliest thing she'd ever seen. "If I could get the crown to work, we could just walk up there like we owned the place."

"I don't understand any of this," Annie said quietly, her voice sad and beginning to quiver. "Why is any of this happening? What is he doing with those things? Why—"

"You don't need to worry about that, Annabelle," Shaun answered, his face softening at the sound of the stress in her voice. "The war with the Doctor is our mission, not yours. We'll get you home safely and then we'll finish our fight here."

"But there shouldn't be a fight!" Annie protested. "Uncle John wouldn't _do_ this!"

Shaun looked at her sadly. "He's not your Uncle John," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe he is in your world. Here, he's someone else."

"He and Uncle Harry," Annie continued quietly, her voice starting to sound like it might break. "They just . . . They garden. They have jobs. They have a son."

Shaun's eyes hardened instantly. "Don't say that," he said quickly. "You have to be careful what you say here, Annie, in case he's listening."

"Why?" Rose asked, frowning. "What would happen?"

"She's talking about the life the Doctor wanted—the life he lost," Sandra answered. Her eyes had the same hardened look that Shaun's did. "If he knew it still existed in your world . . . Why do you think he's built those portals?"

"But how long has he been doing this? Shouldn't he have just found them?"

Shaun shot her a look of annoyance. "We're getting distracted again. The details of this world aren't your concern. You're only passing through."

"Usually we have a bit of time before he starts looking for you," Sandra cut in. "It's going to be tricky to make any moves with him looking for you already."

"We could just lie low," Celeste suggested. She was leaning back against her desk, playing with a small piece of metal in her hands, twisting and flipping it around in her fingers. "Wait him out. After a few days, he'll probably just assume we got you out and stop looking."

"And what if he decided to take a more aggressive approach?" Shaun asked.

Celeste shrugged her shoulders. "That only happened once."

"And _three_ people died."

"Waiting him out doesn't work," Sandra said loudly, in an authoritative voice that left no room for questioning. "The Doctor has bigger fish to fry than us, unless we get in his way. He's taught us that much. If he gets it in his head that we're hiding someone, he'll turn his eyes towards us again. We might be able to fool the King and his army, but we can't fool the Doctor. If there's no evidence that they went back through the rift, he'll come for them."

Annie stood up suddenly. "Where did you get that?"

Celeste's eye glanced down at the small piece of metal in her hand. "From a recycle center," she answered with a shrug. "It's just nickel."

"Not that. The crown. You didn't _build_ that."

Sandra glanced at the crown on the desk and frowned. "Celeste, put that stuff away."

"Don't put it away. I'm _looking_ at it," Annie barked back, taking long strides towards the desk. "You did not build this. You _found_ this. Where did you get it?" She had picked up the crown and was turning it slowly in her hands, scowling at it. "You stole it from him, didn't you? You took this from the Doctor."

Eyes awkwardly shifted around the room and landed on Sandra, no one certain what they should say. Sandra shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "How can you tell?"

"I grew up around Time Lords constantly taking apart lawnmowers and piecing it together with alien tech. This isn't an Earth alloy, which means _you_ didn't build this. This is another receiver."

Another pause and more shifty looks. Sandra uncrossed her arms and took a slow breath. "Yes."

Annie's face hardened. She looked down and started picking up all the burnt out chips and discarded components. Turning them over and flicking them away, faster and faster as though each one hardened her resolve.

"Where is he?" she nearly growled. "Where is the Doctor?"

"Annabelle," Shaun stepped forward. "I've told you—"

"It _is_ my mission," she interrupted quickly. Her nostrils flared and her eyes were flashing with anger. "I keep coming here over and over, right? This is why. You get me to the Doctor and I'll get the alloy you need to turn the crown into a transmitter. We're going to end this."

"There's more to this," Sandra said softly.

"Yeah, well, I've grown up around a lot of people who keep a lot of secrets too," Annie answered stubbornly. "I know how to work some things out for myself." She tossed aside one last computer chip and gripped the crown tightly in her hand, looking up at the group with determination on her face. "I'm not leaving until you take me to him."

There was no more arguing. Sandra gave orders and the team began to move. Equipment was gathered, weapons were handed out. Celeste began to work furiously at her computer, announcing the King's movements every couple of minutes and the odd bit of rift activity. None of it made much sense to Rose, but she supposed it didn't need to.

While Shaun checked and loaded their weapons, Sandra spread a map out on the table. It had been scribbled on with pen, marking various locations.

"We're here," she explained, placing her finger on the map. "All these circle are portals, and these locations are the Doctor's command centers. He moves from one to another, depending on where he's planning his next attack. From the rift activity, we think these portals here will be the next to open, which means he's likely moved to the command center closest to them."

Annie placed her finger on the command center location. "That's where we find him?"

"That's where we find him."

Rose stared down at the portal locations. There were three positioned in a semicircle around the center.

"What does he do when he opens the portals?"

Sandra shook her head. "He strengthens his army."

"The King is turning north," Celeste announced loudly. "We need to be out of here in the next twenty minutes if we plan to stay ahead of him."

"Is it heading back to the command center?" Shaun asked, picking up something that looked like a small cannon and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"I think so," Celeste answered. "He's checked the rift points and activity at the portals is set to spike in the next few hours."

Sandra's face lit up. "If the Doctor is mounting an attack, we have a better chance. He won't be paying any mind to us. Let's move."

Celeste took a pair of handguns and slung an assault rifle over her shoulder, while Shaun had his cannon. Rose took a shotgun from Shaun and hoped it would be enough. Annie grabbed a handgun and slipped a hunting knife onto her belt. Then Sandra handed them each an earpiece for communication and they were ready.

Rose found herself taking deep, purposeful breaths as they made their way down the tunnel. It felt like everything had somehow happened without her. One minute she was relaxing in bed with James and then she blinked, and suddenly she was geared up to run across a dead city ahead of a horde of screaming shadows. She wasn't even entirely sure what they were facing or what they were running to, but Annie wouldn't wait and the others had agreed that moving fast was their best option. And so they ran.

The hatch opened up and sunlight flooded in. The sky was blue and the sun shone merrily. The day was too beautiful to be so frightening. Rose climbed out of the hatch and onto the surface, stepping over clothing and shoes and trying not to look at the dark shapes imprinted on the ground.

Sandra's voice came through the communicator in her ear. "The King is less than a mile behind you and moving quickly. I hope you've all kept up on your cardio."

Celeste started running without another word, and the rest followed her. Their footsteps and heavy breaths seemed too loud in such a quiet world. She'd never noticed how noisy a city was until she found herself in one that was empty. Glass crunched loudly beneath her feet and somewhere a crow screamed loudly at them. It felt like she was trapped in a dream and she struggled to focus on the environment around her.

It became less difficult when she heard a shadow scream somewhere in the distance.

"Sandra," Celeste whispered urgently into her communicator. "How close are they?"

"Half a mile," Sandra answered. "They shouldn't be able to see you. They must have found an animal."

Rose suddenly became aware that she was breathing harder than everyone else. The other three were running as though they could go on for miles, while she was already feeling a little tired.

"How far is it?"

Shaun pointed to a building in the distance. It looked like someone had neatly taken a scoop out of the top corner but it seemed to be in good shape aside from that. Shaun had neglected to mention the distance, which she guessed had been on purpose, but she felt confident she could run that far. Whether or not she could make it that far before the horde caught up to them was another matter.

As the building crept closer, the noise began to escalate. More and more screams filled the air and each one sounded closer. Sandra kept assuring them that the shadows were still well behind them but Rose started to doubt her honesty. A flock of birds took flight only a block away from them, flapping their wings with speed and fleeing for safety.

"Take a right," Sandra instructed firmly. "Get behind something and stay quiet."

Rose's legs found the strength to run a little faster. There was a shop at the side of the road that had one of the front windows broken open. Celeste hopped through it with ease and darted around a corner. They followed her and Rose found herself pressing against the wall, trying to make sure she couldn't be seen through the window from outside, and desperately trying to calm her breathing.

The store was littered with the same evidence that could be found in the street—clothes, shoes, purses, and pairs of glasses just sat on the floor in heaps. She shuddered at the sight of a baby's pram knocked on its side.

Screaming filled the air and Rose peeked around the corner to see the shadows oozing like a black tide down the street. In front of them walked what must have been the King, and it certainly didn't look like an android. It was different from the others, a shadow that stood tall and held a proper form, almost like a real person. It walked rather than slid and its body held enough detail to look like a man. On its head sat a crown of dull, black metal that seemed to absorb the light.

The other shadows moved behind the King as though they were being commanded, but also moved as though they were afraid of it. Rose saw why when one wondered too close and its inky shadow slipped across the King's foot. Without a second's hesitation or warning, the King's hand swept down and ripped the shadow from the ground. It screamed horribly as it was crushed in the King's fist, but the scream began to quiet down and fade while the dark shape sank into the King's arm until there was nothing left.

The shadow was gone. The King moved its head as though it were stretching its neck and kept walking. It was then that Rose saw him for the first time.

Beneath the inky darkness that formed him, Rose saw Harry's face. Cold and unfeeling and merciless, Harry's features suddenly stood out as though they had been carved from darkness itself. His silhouette was unmistakable.

She glanced over at Annie and didn't see a single trace of surprise on her face.

The King and his horde turned down another street, taking the most direct route to the building they had been running for. They stood in frozen silence for a few minutes after the last shadow had disappeared and then Sandra's voice came through to them again.

"Move."

Celeste led them in a different direction than what the King had taken. They were going to go the long way around a city block and approach the command center from the other side. It seemed to work. As they made their way, the screams of the shadows got quieter and more distant.

"How are we going to get to the Doctor if they get there before us?" Rose asked breathlessly.

"The Doctor will be alone," Sandra answered. "He's preparing to open the portals to send his army through. They'll be waiting at the doors, not with him. This will be the best time to strike."

They approached the building and found that the doors had been blasted off the hinges a long time ago. Celeste led them straight to the fire stairs and they began to climb. Rose found herself wondering again how much further it was and whether she'd even have the energy to be of help at the end. She was suddenly thankful that they'd had to hide in the shop as it had given her some time to catch her breath.

"We're trying to surprise him," Sandra advised them. "But don't expect him to be off-guard. Keep your eyes open and pay attention. Don't underestimate him."

The locked door at the top of the stairs quickly took the wind out their sails. He wouldn't have locked it had he not expected them. There was a moment of hesitation and Rose glanced to the others with uncertainty.

Celeste sniffed and lifted her assault rifle in her hands. "Fuck it." She fired several bullets into the lock, lifted her boot, and kicked the door out of the frame.

The door fell with a loud thud and fresh air washed over them. The building had been cut away to open the area to the outside and the sky was dancing with swirling patterns of greens and blues and purples. The rift was alive and the portals were preparing to open.

"Annabelle," a voice said softly. "We really have to stop meeting like this."

The man before them didn't wear a face that Rose knew, but he couldn't have been anyone else.

This face was younger than the ones Rose had seen so far, but his eyes were heavy with age. He was dressed in a black suit as though he were prepared to go to a dinner party, a black crown was perched proudly on his head, and he smiled as though he were pleased to see them.

"What do you think?" he asked energetically, holding his hands out to either side of him as though he were presenting the swirling rift as a work of art. "I know you've seen it before but, well, _you_ haven't seen it before, and I am always eager to hear how brilliant it all is. Clever, isn't it?"

"Not really," Annie answered.

The smile immediately turned into a scowl, and he looked genuinely offended. "You could at least pretend," he scolded. "It's only polite to pretend."

Annie stepped towards him, lifting her gun.

"Ah-ah-ah," the Doctor said, holding up one finger and wagging it at her. "You wouldn't want to do that. You think I knew you were coming and didn't think to grab a shield? You shoot me and that bullet is bouncing straight back at you. It's hard to find carpet cleaners these days, so I'd rather you didn't."

Annie tensed put the gun back in its holster. "How many people have you killed?"

"Killed?" The Doctor's eyebrows shot up and he smiled again as though he was pleasantly surprised. "Killed people? Oh, heavens no. They're all here. Haven't you seen them? They're awfully noisy."

Rose stepped towards the open side of the building, glancing over the edge at the writhing mass of blackness below and felt her stomach turn.

"I mean, sure, a few get eaten here or there," the Doctor added innocently. "But people die every day. That can't be helped and I can hardly be blamed for it."

Annie glared at him hard. "And what about my mother?"

The Doctor's face turned dark immediately and every trace of a smile vanished. "I did everything I could for her," he said in a whisper that quivered with anger. "The truth is, Annabelle, that I simply wasn't clever enough to save her. I don't know how to save anybody. But the Master does. He's a genius, you know, even more so than me. He knows how to fix all of this. I just need to get him back to his old self so that he can do it."

Annie shook her head and there was a touch of sympathy to her voice when she spoke. "He's gone. He's not coming back."

The Doctor smiled again, as though amused. "That's easy to say, isn't it?" he asked. "It's because you're so young. Young people forget everything. They forget to call their parents and forget their school friends and forget the people they were once in love with. Young people have so much ahead of them that they don't even think about looking behind them." He stopped and grinned widely, lifting his hand to gesture towards his own face. "I tried that. I thought, if I was young again, I could just forget and keep going, like I always did. I thought making myself young would somehow make me new. But I'm _old_ , Annabelle. I can't forget him, or you, or your mother. I can't forget Rose Tyler."

It was the first time he'd even acknowledged her existence and when she looked at him, he looked like he was in so much pain. He quickly turned his eyes back to Annie.

"You'll understand it when you're older," he continued. "Nothing stops existing just because you forget it. The things you've done don't just go away. All you can do is hope that when you're old and have to look back on all the things you've left behind, you didn't leave them broken."

"He's not broken," Annie hissed angrily. "He's _gone_. They're all _gone_. Those things out there aren't people!"

His face hardened again, eyebrows locking together. He stood up straight and adjusted the black bowtie at his throat, regaining his composure.

"You never understand," he said quietly. "He's dead in another universe, yes, but I pulled his consciousness through the void in time. The body died, while the rest of him came here. Time Lords call them Meanwhiles, and they're very much alive. I did the same for your mother when I tried to bring her back."

Rose glanced at the backpack Celeste was wearing, holding the third crown inside. Suddenly she suspected that there had once been a Queen of the city as well.

"If I take care of him enough—if I feed him enough energy—he can get the rest of himself back," the Doctor finished, grinning again. "That's all it's going to take. I thought it would work if he just took some life energy, so I let him free to go hunt for himself and well," he gestured towards the black sea below them. "It didn't quite work. Feeding on creatures like us doesn't give him enough—he can't absorb all of it. It leaves behind a part of them, and they carry on feeding, trying to get back the part they lost. I didn't figure out right away that he needs to feed on other Meanwhiles, which means I need to make them first." He suddenly threw his hands up, as if in surrender. "I may have made some mistakes, I admit. This could have gone better. But! It's not too late."

"It _is_ too late," Annie barked. "The city is completely destroyed. Everyone's gone."

"Yeah, it looks bad, I _know_. You're missing the point. All I need to do is get the Master the energy he needs to come back, and then he can make it all right again. He's so clever you know. He could have ruled the universe if I hadn't held him back for so long." He turned and looked at the swirling rift and an odd smile came to his face. "He would have been King."

Thunder cracked loudly and the sea of black shadows erupted into screams.

The Doctor smiled wider. "He will be."

The rift swirled aggressively and suddenly three portals in the city below ripped open. Rose felt a shock wave of energy wash over them, nearly toppling her over. When she regained her balance and looked back down at the portals, she saw the three had opened to different locations, and the black sea was pouring through them.

One portal was open to a city and the screams of people joined those of the shadows as they pooled through it. The other two led into open space, looking down on fleets of ships. Everything was swirling and moving aggressively before the shadows even entered, and Rose realized she was looking at a battlefield. And there, behind the ships, she saw the planet the battle surrounded. A massive, red planet.

"If he can just make enough Time Lord Meanwhiles, it'll all be okay," the Doctor said cheerfully. "It'll work this time. Trust me."


	25. Chapter 25: Jack

Declan was dead. Jack kept checking his pulse, switching back and forth between his wrist and his neck, looking for any sign of life. He knew he wouldn't find one. He knew that Declan wouldn't suddenly start coughing and fly into a panic over what had just happened.

Jack had had friends, and people much closer than friends, die before. He'd watched it happen. He'd participated. He'd even caused a few. He should be used to it. He should have been able to look at Declan's body and feel nothing but a thick mouthful of disappointment slide down his throat before he moved on.

Edmund was in distress. He was making a strange, quiet sort of wailing and pacing back and forth on all fours, as close to the back wall as he could manage.

"Friend," the creature whimpered. "Declan. Friend. My friend."

He knew that Edmund could be sad—he'd seen it before—but could he feel guilt? It was him, after all, who seemed to have killed him. Jack had been laying on the floor, riddled with bullets and dying, when he saw Edmund reach forward and touch him. Declan had dropped like a sack of potatoes, limbs twisting and landing in unnatural way, face blank and empty. Even now, with Declan's body in his arms, Jack hesitated to move for fear of his head rolling around in the way only a dead body could.

He felt sick.

He felt guilty.

Edmund had been the one to deliver the blow, but Jack had known what was going to happen. He'd figured out quickly that it must have been Declan that was infected and, instead of thinking of ways to help him, all he could think of was how to turn it to his advantage. He'd made Declan call his family to say goodbye. He'd apologized and said everything he thought he needed to say. He thought that would be enough to free him of guilt, but it came anyway.

There was nothing he could have done, he told himself. All he could have done was blown Declan's cover and the Bad Wolf would have only dropped him sooner, robbing him of the chance to speak to his wife and daughter one last time. Edmund wasn't hurt, not really. He'd made the right call. It was a kindness, really, to give him the chance to say goodbye. So few people were allowed that. He'd done the right thing.

He told himself that over and over again and Edmund wailed.

It felt like he'd been sitting there forever before anyone else showed up, but he knew that couldn't have been the case. Gunfire anywhere outside of the shooting range automatically set off alarms in Torchwood's headquarters, so Celeste would have known something was wrong the second Declan pulled the trigger. It must have only been a few minutes. Why did Declan feel so cold already?

"Jack? Captain?" Celeste's voice was loud and worried, but it became shrill and almost hysterical with the next words. "Declan? Oh, fuck, Declan!?"

Jack barely noticed when she knocked him aside, taking the body from him. He felt like he was watching from the other side of the world as Celeste frantically yelled at Declan's limp form. His head rolled around and his arms dropped heavily against the hard floor as she laid his body out on the floor. She yelled something at Jack as she started chest compressions but he wasn't sure what it as. It didn't matter anyway.

"He's dead, Burke," Jack said quietly.

"Was he shot?" Celeste asked, her eyes racing over the body for something to fix. "Where is he hurt? Jack!"

"He's not hurt," Jack answered loudly that time, and reached forward to grab Celeste's shoulder. "He's dead." Edmund made another piteous moan as if to confirm it. "He's dead, Celeste."

Celeste stared at him with eyes caught halfway between confusion and devastation. She slowly lifted her hands from the body, staring down at it as though she were waiting for it to move. Her breath shook a little and Jack thought she might be about to cry, but she took a deep breath and steadied herself.

"Why is he dead?"

"He was infected," Jack answered truthfully. "He attacked Edmund and then he shot me. Then he died. It's jut like what James and Rose told us."

"He planted the void bombs on the others."

"Yes."

Her brows locked together. "Doug's was in his pocket. Dex must have touched him to do that." The worry returned to her voice as quickly as it had left. "Is Douglas infected? Is this going to happen to my brother?"

"I don't think so. Declan's mission seemed to be to get him and anyone connected to Edmund out of the way. He wouldn't have been sent away if he could have been used."

Celeste nodded slowly, keeping her composure as calm and collected as she could. "Dr. Presley and Kevin are gone," she said quietly. "I'll just . . . put him in the morgue."

Without another word, she slid one arm behind Declan's shoulders, one beneath his knees, and lifted him from the floor. Her face was tense and her body rigid as she carried him like a child to find a nice cold box to lay him in, to keep him from rotting.

Jack wondered why he kept letting people think that administration was a safe job.

Edmund, still whimpering and mewling like a wounded animal, grabbed his typewriter with one hand and dragged it over.

"I am not," he muttered, voice quivering with distress. "Declan. I am—Declan is not here. I am not here. Declan. Friend."

Jack watched as Edmund continued his strings of nonsense and carefully typed out a sentence in case anyone should come looking for him. The words "I am not here" slowly appeared on the page and, with one final muttering of Declan's name, Edmund's eyes glazed over and his body went limp.

Jack stared at him for a moment and then looked up at the wall behind him. There were several new scratches and gouges where the knife had made its way through Edmund's body and a cracked crater where Jack knew he would find a bullet in the concrete.

Who were they kidding?

Time Lords, Zumecki, Alreesh, humans, even an immortal—they didn't stand a chance against creatures like this. They couldn't beat them. They couldn't kill them. All the evidence showed that they couldn't even hurt them. What else was he supposed to do?

The Doctor had seen Celeste go by with the body and Jack found them both standing before the morgue vaults, preparing to close it up. The Doctor looked ghostly pale and drawn, staring at the body without saying a word.

"James doesn't know," Celeste said quietly. "I'm going to wait until he's rested to tell him. He needs his strength."

"We all do," Jack added. "I'm lifting the lockdown. The Bad Wolf knows exactly where we are and has shown that it can get in. There's no point keeping ourselves locked up."

"James is here alone," Celeste answered firmly. "I'm staying here."

"Whatever you want."

The Doctor still hadn't spoken. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on Declan's face right up until the moment the drawer was closed, then he stared at the door.

"I'm going to get some fucking work done." Celeste turned the lock on the drawer and quickly left.

Jack looked up at his old friend—centuries old and famous across all of time and space for being unconquerable—and he'd never looked so small. His wide eyes hadn't moved from the drawer. Jack wasn't even certain he'd taken a breath.

"Doctor," he said quietly, but he got no response. It was like the Doctor was somewhere else, far away and free from this nightmare, and someone much more human and afraid had been left behind.

"John," he said instead.

The Doctor's eyes moved slowly to meet Jack's. "We didn't know," he said in nearly a whisper. "He could have infected anyone. He could have killed anyone."

"But he didn't."

"Where's my son?" The Doctor asked abruptly, eyes fixed on the drawer again. "Jack, where's my husband?"

"We're going to find out," Jack answered gently. "We'll get them back."

"You don't know that. And even if we did get them back, this is what we're bringing them back to." The Doctor's voice had turned to a cold hiss and his eyes narrowed. "We can't keep them safe, Jack. We're not enough."

Jack realized what he was saying them and he stood up straight. "Doctor, I don't think you're in any kind of state to—"

"I don't have a choice!" the Doctor snapped. "Please, Jack, tell me the alternative."

Jack lowered his eyes. "You know you have less control when you're emotional. Harry wouldn't want it."

"Harry can't want anything if he dies." The Doctor stood up straight and turned his eyes back to Jack, burning defiant holes into him. "I can't lose them, Jack. I can't." He straightened his tie and made an attempt to regain his composure. His eyes were hard and his voice was firm when he spoke next. "I can control it. I'm going to wake the Beast."

That could problematic. The Beast was a powerful tool but it wasn't Jack's tool and he didn't care for the thought of having to face it. Immortal or not, he never wanted to get closer to those teeth than absolutely necessary.

He stood alone in the morgue for a while, hoping that he wouldn't need to return any time soon and convincing himself that he was taking the right path. He told himself that he was. The Doctor was willing to wake the Beast to save his family and Jack didn't doubt that Harry would do the same, if not worse. He had his own son to save and he had to do it alone. He would do whatever it took.

He thumped his fist lightly on the door that locked away Declan's body. "Bye, Dex."

He normally liked it when Torchwood was quiet. It was a rare thing. Usually he walked the halls and could listen to Kelevra working at his many work stations, machines beeping and humming constantly. Declan would be shuffling papers, thumping books, and muttering under his breath everywhere he went. Edmund slipped from room to room, disrupting whoever he found and chirping out his usual greeting. Doug was loud no matter what he was doing. J.J. was usually barking orders at someone or else laughing with one of the other kids. Quiet usually meant peace. Quiet usually meant that all was well with the world and Torchwood wasn't needed, letting the team go home to rest and relax.

He hated the quiet today. Most of the team was missing. J.J. was missing. Edmund had fled. Declan lay in a freezer box, slowly turning to ice.

He wanted the noise to come back. He wanted to see J.J. running down the halls with his staff, laughing and breathless with Ganbri on his heels. He wanted to hear Annie lecturing him on standing up for himself while she braided his hair.

No one knew when he left headquarters. There were few people around to find out.

The teleport opened to the hallway of his house. He expected to find more silence, but what he found felt worse. He could hear the TV in J.J.'s room had been left on, playing one of the hundreds of crime documentaries that Kevin seemed addicted to. The two of them often watched them at night until they fell asleep and usually had one on in the morning when they got ready for work. The sound of it made their absence glaring, reminding him immediately of who was missing.

He could fix it though. He was sure of that. He'd get J.J. home, safe and sound, and they'd talk it all out. He could explain himself better, apologize, find out how to get things back to the way they were. Maybe he could suggest J.J. quit Torchwood and go to school to pursue his own dreams. He'd let Kevin move in properly if that's what he wanted, and they could all be a family together. Whatever it took.

He just needed him back.

He didn't realize that he'd wandered into J.J.'s room until the doorbell rang and snapped him out of his train of thought. He turned off the TV and made his way to the front door, acutely aware of the silence around him.

He found Mrs. Thatcher on the front step, an elderly neighbour who had made it a habit to pop by frequently. She'd taken a liking to J.J. within days of his arrival and never seemed to mind that it took the little boy well over a year before he was even willing to speak directly to her.

"Jack!" she said cheerfully, smiling. "I don't suppose your boy is around, is he?"

Jack sighed and scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry, Mrs. Thatcher, he's not home. Did you need help with something?"

"Well, I was hoping he'd brought that little Time Lord he stole back."

Jack's blood ran cold. He stared at the old woman, praying he'd misheard her somehow but knowing he hadn't.

"J.J. loves Mrs. Thatcher," he finally muttered in shock.

"Don't see why," the old woman answered with a shrug. "I got the impression that he favoured the strong and this body is practically falling to pieces." She looked up at him, saw that he wasn't amused, and rolled her eyes. "Don't worry! I'll lay her in bed before I let her go and it will just look like she died peacefully in her sleep. He'll never know."

"You killed Declan," he said without really meaning to. He was remembering the look of panic and confusion on Declan's face right before he died and trying not to think about what might be happening in poor Mrs. Thatcher's head right now.

"Edmund killed Declan," she answered with a scowl. "Banished me from his body like that—what did he think would happen!? Then I had to find a new one and now this lovely little old lady gets to die too, so you can write that down as two murders under Edmund's name. Now, are you going to invite me in or shall we continue to talk about who's responsible for whose deaths out here for all the neighbourhood to hear?"

Jack blinked, trying to be sure he wasn't stuck in some kind of awful dream, and stepped aside.

"Lovely." The old woman smiled sweetly and stepped through the door. "Speaking of Edmund, what makes you so special to have such powerful friends?"

Jack watched her walk through his house like she owned it, plop down on the sofa in the sitting room, and quickly make herself comfortable. She took off the thick woolen jacket she was wearing and stopped to inspect her wrinkled and spotted hands.

"Why did you kill Declan?" he asked slowly.

"I told you, dear, I didn't. Edmund kicked me out of the body and Declan went with me. Seeing as Declan couldn't live without a body, he died."

"But you knew that would happen to him."

"So did you, but you're not willing to admit that you're guilty of killing him, are you?"

He felt sick.

"Shut up, sit down, and let's move on to the important bits. You asked for a deal so I want to hear your proposal."

Yes, of course. Declan was dead and there was nothing Jack could do to help him now. J.J. still needed him.

"My son—"

"Your sons are all dead," the old woman interrupted. "I assume you mean the Alreesh you stole?"

Jack took a deep breath. "J.J.—"

"Da'in-Nuek Nista," she interrupted again. "Goodness, you take him from his family, his planet, his culture, force him to speak a different language, and even took his name and you wonder why he's so angry with you?"

"How do—what—?"

"Declan's head wasn't empty, Captain."

He swallowed hard. "I thought you said you wanted to get to the important bits?"

She smiled. "Oh, I know. But I wanted to make sure you knew that you couldn't lie to me. Well, and I get easily distracted. Go on."

He took another deep breath and thought carefully about how to proceed. "You made me immortal."

"I did. You're welcome by the way."

"I want you to make J.J. immortal."

"Hmm." She leaned back into the sofa and crossed her legs, pursing her lips as though the thought was distasteful. "Why don't you get your friend Edmund to do it?"

"Edmund has a vocabulary of about forty words. You know that."

Her eyes lit up and a delighted smirk appeared on her face. "Yes, but isn't it so funny?"

"I don't like being jerked around," he said with a scowl. "Can you do it or not?"

She sighed, and bounced the leg on her knee a couple of times. "I can't do anything if I don't know where he is," she said in an annoyed tone, crossing her arms. "And I wouldn't be able to give him true immortality until I'm restored to power."

"Well, what can you give him?"

"Something close enough. He'd be immortal as long as he had the energy in his body, which I could supply, of course. Assuming he doesn't die too often and waste it, it should give him two centuries, perhaps three if he doesn't die at all." She tilted her head to the side and gave him a sly smile. "With Rose or the Time Lord boy, I could make him just as you are, and the two of you could carry on until the end of the universe. Or, at least, until the end of me."

Jack glanced up, not sure if he'd understood.

"Oh yes, boy," the old woman said with a merry grin. "If I die, you die. Your boy dies. Everyone I've ever 'infected', as you call it, dies."

"If you get what you want, don't we die anyway?"

She thought about it for a moment, pursing her lips again. "Yours is but one universe. I could compromise and take the slow route with this one—let you and your friends live as though nothing were happening. You wouldn't even be aware of me, just as you are unaware of all the others like me." She grinned again and then dropped it abruptly. "But I'm bored with talking about what I can do for you. I want to talk about what you can do for me."

"I won't kill anyone," Jack responded quickly.

"Of course not. Just as you didn't kill Declan."

He felt anger bubble inside of him but there was no point in arguing. She was right and he knew it. There was no way for him to take the high road as long as he was here, speaking to her, after everything that had happened. He couldn't even pretend for himself.

So he bit his tongue and nodded.

"Basically, I need you to work for me," the old woman said simply. "If you see something that might give me an advantage, you take it. If you see a threat, you get rid of it. If you have a chance to deliver either Rose or Ganbri to me, you will do so immediately."

"And, in return, you promise to keep J.J. safe from harm and to grant him immortality as soon as you're able."

"Tell me where he is and I'll do it right this moment." She smiled wide leaned forward in her seat. "Do we have a deal?"

Jack hesitated only because he thought he should. Surely, he should need time to think about it? Surely, he should be weighing the information he had and carefully making his choice? But the hesitation was a farce and he suspected she knew it. He'd made his decision the moment he realized that Declan had been infected.

"We have a deal."


	26. Chapter 26: Nista

It had taken a long time for Nista's heart to slow down and for his breathing to return to normal. Ganbri had quietly told the others that he needed some space and, luckily, they had simply backed off and directed them to a quiet room for some privacy. Ganbri sat beside him on a cot, kind and worried as always, and didn't talk other than the occasional reminder that he was there and they were safe.

There was a battle going on in the distance somewhere. In the time he'd been taking to get himself under control, he'd begun to hear thunderous explosions in the sky. They were far enough away to know that they weren't currently in danger, but near enough that he could feel the vibrations faintly through his feet on the floor. If the battle moved, it likely wouldn't take long for it to be upon them.

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and turning his face to the floor. Ganbri put a hand on his back and he tried not to bristle at the touch. Ganbri's instincts were always to touch, to hug, to give physical comfort in some way, and it was hard for him to remember that touching could make the panic worse.

"Are you going to be sick?" Ganbri asked softly.

"No," he growled back.

"I think I might be sick."

"Go ahead. I won't tell."

Ganbri gulped audibly and, for a second, Nista thought he might actually take him up on the offer. He leaned away to stay clear of him but, when he looked back, Ganbri was still as a stone.

"How can this have happened so quickly?" Ganbri asked quietly. "Aren't we supposed to get, like . . . a break first? You're not even healed."

"The Bad Wolf doesn't give a shit if I'm healed."

Besides, he'd had a break. He thought about how bitterly he'd complained about being home and now all he wanted was to go back. He twisted his fingers through his bracelet and thought about doing nothing but boring chores around the house and cooking breakfast and watching shit crime documentaries all night.

Why had he complained so much?

"I want to go home too."

He pulled his lips back over his teeth. "Stay the fuck out of my head."

"Sorry," Ganbri sniffed. "It was an accident."

He knew that. Ganbri was used to reaching out for his parents when he was scared or upset, just like he was used to offering physical comfort when someone else was scared or upset. He was doing the wrong things but Nista tried to remind himself that he was only trying to help.

He sighed and reached out to grab Ganbri's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze before patting him on the knee. "We've got an army of Time Lords helping us," he said, pulling his hands back to himself and crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll go home soon."

They sat together quietly for a while. Nista tried not to think too much in case Ganbri accidentally wandered into his thoughts again. He didn't feel like answering questions now.

After a few minutes, the door pushed slowly open and the Master stepped inside. "You're going to need equipment," he said slowly. "Kahlia needs to measure you for armour."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison and began to stand up.

"Ah, she can only do one at a time," the Master cut in quickly. "Go along, Ganbri."

Nista slowly sat back down and eyed the man before him suspiciously. Ganbri stood up but hesitated leaving, casting a nervous glance between the two of them.

"Unless you would rather walk the battlefield unarmed and unprotected," the Master added loudly.

Ganbri straightened up. "Yes, sir," he answered quickly. "Sorry, sir."

Ganbri hurried from the room and the Master shut the door carefully behind him. Nista waited for him to speak but, instead, there was only a long moment of silence in which they looked at each other and he began to wonder if his thoughts were being invaded again.

"Did you just come for the view?"

"I need to shave your hair."

Nista's lips pulled back almost immediately. "No."

"Not all of it," the Master answered quickly. "But that wound won't heal with so much hair getting in it all the time. This mission could last for days and I can't risk you getting an infection. The hair has to go."

"Seems a little below your pay grade."

He shrugged. "It is." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a silver tool that was nothing more than a handle with a button on it. "You wanna do it yourself?"

He turned his chin downward and pulled his legs in closer to himself. He knew he was doing it and it annoyed him to be so transparent but he couldn't seem to help it. His neck ached where the Master fingers had dug in and it almost felt like the hand was still wrapped around his throat.

The Master sighed and sat down on the cot beside him. "Look, I just met you. Whatever I'm like in your world, that's a different person. I have a family to protect and a planet to fight for. I'm going help you get home but I don't have time to wade through your personal hang ups to get to the goal. I've seen your mind and we both know what the problem is. Let's just deal with it, okay?"

Nista turned to look at him and saw a burdened and tired look he'd come to be familiar with. Harry had always tried to give time and attention when something was bothering him—especially for break ups and other teen drama—but it was no secret that he had little patience for it. There was only so much sympathy he could give before Nista could tell he just wanted to be done with it. He supposed it was hard to sympathize with such trivial things when you've lived through a millennium of death and tragedy.

"You're usually a little more subtle," he found himself saying.

"Like I said, I'm a different person. I've go better things to do."

There would be no hiding from this one, he knew. Harry would back off if Nista shut him out. He'd let things go and try again later. But this wasn't Harry. This was the Master.

"I don't like people being able to see it," he admitted.

"I know," the Master answered with a nod. "But you also don't want it to go away. Trust me, I understand what it's like to feel rejected and think you deserve it. I'm also old enough to tell you that that is complete and utter bullshit." He held out the small silver tool, giving it a little shake to make it clear that he expected Nista to take it from him. "You went to war for your best friend and you got hurt doing it. That wound is a symbol of love and loyalty for your friend, not evil. Be fucking proud of it. Besides, Ru'ahn was the hero of the story and you know it."

He shook the tool again and Nista stared at it blankly. He cleared his throat and felt the bruising ache spread through his entire neck for a second. To the point, painful, but over quickly. It seemed to be how the Master got everything done. Perhaps it was better if he did the shaving himself.

He reached for the tool and the Master clapped him on the back. "Good lad. Now move your ass. We've got things to kill."

The door closed and Nista found himself alone, staring at the beautiful and ornate shapes carved into the doorframe. It was a beautiful home, clearly built for holding aristocrats and their social functions. But he could still hear distant explosions, almost drowned out by the sound of people in the other rooms, running around and preparing. Someone was screaming somewhere in the house. It didn't matter how pretty the world around him seemed to be—there was always something horrible waiting to come in.

The button on the silver handle turned out a small laser and Nista scoffed. Of course, a Time Lord wouldn't have something as simple as a razor. There was a mirror hanging on the wall to his right, with a beautiful frame that shimmered and changed colour as he moved. When he got closer to it, he noticed an old, dried smear of blood on one corner. Someone else had stood right here before and he was suddenly aware that they must have either gotten better or died. There was no third option.

The wound was far uglier and angry looking than before. Jumping through the void twice had not been gentle on it. Even with Tassiel's help, blood was still oozing slowly out of it and sticking his hair down. The flesh was red and swollen, making the horrible tear look even bigger than it was.

It was only a wound. Nothing more. The Master was right.

He brought the laser up and started before he could think about anything else. It was hot against his skin, almost burning. The hair fell away and exposed the enflamed skin to the world and the feeling of cool air against it was soothing.

He shaved away everything below the wound and swept everything above it over to the other side of his head. He thought it looked a little stupid, but the look had been pretty popular once so perhaps people would think he'd done it by choice, trying to pull off some kind of retro look. He tried to see it without looking at the massive gash that wrapped around his skull and decided he could get used to the look.

He brushed the loose strands of hair away, trying to ignore the sticky blood that made it cling to his fingers. He glanced at the smear on the mirror frame again and pressed his thumb just below it, leaving a mark of his own.

Another explosion ripped through the sky, making the entire building tremble beneath it. The battle was moving closer. Nista left to find his gear.

The room was alive with movement. People were flowing through the various doors like lines of ants, focused entirely on the job at hand. The Master, the General, and Kahlia were standing over a sea of papers on the table and talking animatedly, reaching over each other to point to one thing or another. Tassiel was standing in the center of the room holding a small screen in her hands. She had her own line of ants, approaching her one by one, waiting for her to consult her screen, receiving a quick order, and immediately moving out to follow it.

In the middle of it all was a surreal site. Ganbri, Berran, and Hannes were all sitting on the floor together, fitting together pieces of weaponry tech like little boys building a Lego set on Christmas morning. All three had wide and eager eyes, excitedly chattering as they shared their ideas and argued over whose was best.

Berran looked up at him then. His deep blue eyes had something to them that made it hard to look away and Nista instinctively lowered his chin when Berran grinned at him.

"I like the cut," Berran said, running his hand over the side of his own head as if to show what he meant. "Ganbri says you guys fight with staves."

"I'll fight with anything."

"We're trying to make you one with Skaro piercers," Hannes smiled from ear to ear and held up the piece he was working on proudly. "We figure you're too small to use the shields."

Nista looked the boys up and down. Ganbri was significantly taller and broader than both of them. Hannes was a wisp of a thing, no taller than Kevin and not as muscular. Berran was of a bigger build than his brother, but nothing impressive. Nista had no doubt that he'd have a harder time fighting Kahlia than either of her brothers.

"And you're not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We don't use them either," Hannes answered matter-of-factly. "I'm a sniper. Berran does explosives."

Nista blinked. They were just kids, all three of them. He started to feel like he suddenly understood why so many people had looked at him so strangely when he was growing up. They always seemed confused and concerned to hear a child talk of learning to defend himself with such grave importance or showing such an interest in the ways of war. He's always thought humans were just soft and stupid. Now he was seeing how unsettling it was.

There were three children in front of him and all of them were deadly.

It was then he noticed that Ganbri's smile had died. He was looking at the wound and his eyes had taken him far away. Nista fought the urge to try to cover it up with his hands and turn away. People were going to look. He had to get used to that. He turned his attention to the leaders in the room instead.

No one said anything when Nista stepped up to the General's table. Kahlia gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement but the conversation continued without interruption.

There was a map on the table with several chess-like pieces positioned on it, showing that the Academy was heavily fortified and had several enemy camps positioned not far from its walls. The General was concerned over how other camps might try to take advantage of their attack and attempt to hijack it for themselves.

"The Academy is very valuable," the Master offered Nista as a quick explanation. "It's got all the good toys."

"The Crafters won't attack," Kahlia said, picking up one of the pieces and moving it aside. "They don't have the equipment or the numbers. They're scavengers. They'll wait until the fight is over and hope they can pick from the rubble."

The Master nodded and gave a quiet hum of agreement.

"Maybe the Crafters won't, but the Archivists definitely will," the General added, pointing to a separate piece. "Daleks are extremely reactive and there are too many of them to ignore. If they push us up against the walls, we wouldn't have much of a chance."

"The Serpent's Union are a smaller group than us but their leader is smart," Kahlia pointed out next. "She's turned far worse odds to her advantage."

Nista stared at the map and its pieces. He glanced of to the side and saw a small box that contained at least a dozen other pieces, each one shaped differently.

"How many armies are involved in this war?"

The Master took a deep breath in, hesitating. "We don't know," he admitted. "Depends on how many were wiped out today. Depends on how many new ones popped up. The war started between the Time Lords and the Daleks, but these days everyone wants a piece and it's every group for themselves. The Archivists are Daleks that believe stealing and adapting to other tech is how to survive. The Crafters are Time Lords that tried and failed to take over Gallifreyan rule when our last president was assassinated. The Union are a group built of survivors from other destroyed factions and they grow every day."

He looked up at the three before him and glanced about the room. They had a proper headquarters established, they were organized, and they even seemed to have uniforms in place.

"And who are you?"

The Master's mouth tugged up at one corner. "We're the Called Upon."

"We send some fire into the Archivist camp," Kahlia suddenly cut in. "Send Hannes to take out the Serpent's Head. Lugrin isn't nearly as clever as his wife and wouldn't be able to recover from the shock fast enough to organize. The Archivists would be too stupid to realize that it wasn't them and would just head for the commotion. Let those two fight it out, with the Crafters watching keenly, while we attack here." She pointed to the map on the furthest side of the Academy from the other camps.

Nista looked up at them in surprise. "Are they your enemies?"

"They're not our allies," the Master answered simply. "And it would create a lot of chaos. Chaos is our playground."

"It is," the General agreed. "Which is why they might see it coming."

"Not if we send Hannes," Kahlia argued. "Send him in while the rest of us stay back and wait. They wouldn't know we were there until it was too late."

Nista looked over at Hannes sitting on the floor cross-legged with his brothers, putting together pieces of scrap. "You want to send _him_ on an assassination mission?"

"It's what he's good at," the Master replied without even looking up.

"He's a kid."

The Master looked up then, leveling him with a look that threatened all manner of consequences if he asked another question. "Who do you think assassinated the last President?"

Nista glanced over at Hannes again, at his easy and naïve smile, and felt a chill run through his blood.

"I want you to go with him."

Nista's eyes shot back to the Master's face. "What?"

"Stealth and hand-to-hand combat are what _you're_ good at," the Master explained slowly. "You can protect him while he does his job, in case you're discovered. Ganbri will stay with us while we set up the attack on the wall."

"I can't leave Ganbri."

"He's my blood," the Master said firmly. "He's all of our blood. We'll do everything in our power to keep him safe. Hannes is our blood too, so I expect you to do the same. Now . . . go do what you're good at."

There was no negotiating here, he realized. This was not Harry and this was not Earth. He was going to help Hannes perform an assassination whether he wanted to or not.

"Yes, sir."

"Go get your gear."

It had been difficult to find armour that fit. Time Lords were not giants by any means but they were still large enough that most of their equipment left Nista feeling like a child trying on their parents' clothes. Eventually, someone was able to find armour that was almost small enough to fit him and they adjusted it with a series of tools he didn't recognize and some good old-fashioned creativity.

He looked up at one point to see Kahlia showing a shield to Ganbri, explaining to him how it worked and the techniques he'd need to use. Berran was putting the finishing touches on the staff that he and the other boys had put together. Hannes had disappeared.

The armour was lighter than it had looked but restricted his movement more than he cared for. They gave him a helmet but the pressure on the wound on his head was painful and distracting, so he quickly removed it. The Time Lord assisting him gave him a pointed look of disapproval but said nothing.

Berran approached him when he was finished, holding up a staff proudly. "Should you come across any Daleks, push this," he said, indicating a button near the center of the staff. He pushed it and the ends of the staff glowed with a faint blue light. "Those are Skaro piercers. The energy disrupts a Dalek's shield and lets you pierce the casing. Don't bother trying to attack one as long as its shield is still up. You'll just die."

He muttered a word of thanks and then found himself an empty corner to practice a little. He needed to get used to the feel of the armour and the weight of the staff. He kept reminding himself of what he was about to do but it didn't seem to be sinking in, like he was thinking about someone else. His mind just kept travelling home, wondering if Kevin and Annie had found their way back yet.

"Time to go."

Hannes had appeared next to him. He was dressed in the same armour, complete with the helmet, and had a massive rifle resting against his shoulder. He didn't look scared or nervous at all. He smiled as though they were only going for a competitive run together.

"You ready?"

 _No._

"Yeah."

"Then let's go."

If there had been a good-bye or wishes of luck between Hannes and the others, Nista must have missed it. He looked back just in time to see Ganbri wave to him before he was led into the next room.

There were three gates set up before him, each crackling with energy as several Time Lords busied themselves around the room. Hannes muttered something to one of them and they immediately set to work.

"This won't take long," Hannes promised.

It didn't. Nista still didn't feel like he quite had his bearings and suddenly one of the gates was coming to life. It roared with power and a bright light flashed across the gate. When the light faded from his eyes, Nista was looking at a hole that opened up onto red fields of deep grass.

Hannes stepped forward without a word. Nista followed him.

It was freezing outside. A chill instantly ran through his body and his breath appeared before him in little puffs of moisture. Hannes crouched low in the grass and set off at an impressive pace, holding his rifle tight against his body so as not to let it clatter about and make noise.

Suddenly, he felt like he was on Nu'akt again and an old, dormant sense of fear and determination came creeping out of the back of his mind.

 _Be quiet_ , he could almost hear Mother whispering to him. _If you make a sound, you die._

He set off after Hannes, staying light on his toes and keeping his head down.

 _Don't let them see you._

He kept his eyes focused ahead of him, making sure he didn't lose track of Hannes in the grass.

 _Don't let them hear you._

He held his staff close to his body and pointed ahead, letting it part the grass before him.

 _Either they will eat you…_

He could almost feel them out there—teeth in the dark. One wrong move and he'd die. He didn't even know how many could be out there, how many were listening, or how many were hunting, but he knew they were there.

 _Or you will eat them._

Hannes had stopped abruptly in front of him, but he already knew why. There was a sentry standing ahead of them, gun at her hip and eyes scanning the horizon. She hadn't thought to look down.

Nista rushed forward and struck out with his staff, knocking the back of her knees in. He whipped the staff around to strike her in the throat before she screamed and then grabbed hold her gun, just in case she still managed to collect her thoughts enough to reach for it. She did reach, trying to take it from him as he took it away, but her grip was already weakening and he easily shook her hands off.

Her mouth kept opening and closing, like a fish on the shore desperately trying to breath. The blow had crushed her throat completely and she was suffocating. Still, he didn't want to take risks. The blade fixed along the end of his staff slid through her flesh easily enough and her throat opened up like a second, gasping, red mouth.

She'd already stopped moving when Hannes came rushing through the grass again, passing him without so much as glancing at the body.

It took a few more minutes to reach the Union's camp but they didn't find any other sentries so far out in the fields. There were many patrolling around the perimeter of the camp but Hannes stopped before they were close enough to be any concern. The boy got down on the ground and carefully laid his rifle out, attaching small pieces and making little adjustments. Nista crouched in the grass beside him and watched.

Once Hannes was prepared, laying flat on his belly and carefully watching the camp, they waited in complete silence. Nista's ears were so focused that his head was starting to hurt, listening for an enemy in the grass walking idly by or creeping up for an attack. The wait felt like an eternity.

Finally, a bright light flashed across the sky and the sound of an explosion cracked through the air. The grass around them bent over in the shock wave and Nista felt heat rush across his face. The voices of hundreds of angry Daleks filled the air instantly and Nista could see the Union camp before him suddenly come to life. There were people rushing for cover, but plenty of others were emerging from their shelters to see what was happening.

Nista barely saw the woman who stepped from the entrance of the largest tent before she dropped. Hannes's rifle made just a whisper of sound when he'd pulled the trigger, and the boy himself didn't appear to have blinked or taken a breath as he lay in wait. It was over so quickly that he wasn't even entirely sure that it had happened yet.

More screams took to the air and Nista watched as people rushed forward to their leader, trying to figure out why she had collapsed so suddenly. He looked back just in time to see Hannes's boot disappearing into the grass and he took off again.

They were being less careful now, running as fast as they could at a crouch just low enough to keep them hidden. The chaos of the two camps was more than enough noise to cover the sounds of their breathing and heavy footsteps.

"Dalek!"

Hannes leapt to the side with only a second to spare, revealing a massive contraption hovering through the grass towards them. It fired and Nista leapt in the opposite direction that Hannes had, barely missing the shot.

"Exterminate!" it cried, whirling around to aim again. "Exterminate!"

Nista hit the button that Berran had showed him, activating the only weapon he had against the creature before him. The blue light seemed to ignite some sort of energy field surrounding the Dalek, exposing its shield and then burning it away. He drove the point of his staff forward and it pierced the metal shell encasing the being inside. He felt the blade hit something soft and squishy on the other side and the Dalek screamed as he drove it in further. He gave the staff a twist for good measure and the Dalek fell silent, the various pieces of the outer shell dropping down limp and the lights shutting off.

Hannes didn't stop to congratulate him. They ran again. They came across two more Daleks and a person who really could have been anybody. They never found out who it was. Like the Daleks, Nista had silenced them before they really knew that anyone else was there.

They spotted the Gatekeeper they were supposed to meet, crouching in the field ahead of them and, again, there was no time for words. The gate opened, they ran through, and Nista barely had time to register the room at headquarters before they ran through the gate right next to the one they'd just come through. Suddenly, there were Called Upon all around him, standing in silence, waiting.

The Academy loomed in the dark above them, large as a castle and decorated with all the pomp and circumstance of a cathedral. The sounds and lights of the battle they'd started roared up from the other side of the great building as though it were on fire, and yet the Academy did not stir.

"We are Called Upon!" the Master's voice called out over the crowd, far too loud for it to have truly been his voice. "To war! To victory!"

Nista did not see a single mouth move and yet an army of voices called back with a battle cry. It was being projected straight into his head, he realized just as the drum beat began. The soldiers began to move in time with the drums, keeping their formations tight as they moved. Four beats, four steps. The Master had turned his curse into a tool to command his armies and Nista couldn't help but smile at the cleverness of it.

Suddenly, the sky split open above them, rocking the ground hard enough that several people lost their footing. Then it happened again. Nista looked up and saw two gaping holes with sunlight pouring through where there had been stars before.

He stared up in amazement at the portals, looking straight through to another world. He could see crumbling buildings and blue sky, just like he was looking through a window. It took him a moment to realize that there was a sea of shadow pouring through them. The portals were so far away that it was difficult to see at first, but the shadows were growing and becoming more obvious, even against the night sky. And they were screaming.

Nista grabbed Hannes by the shoulder. "What the fuck is that!?"

"It's the Could Have Been King." For the first time, Hannes actually looked worried. "All we can do is pray that he didn't come for us."

"And if he did?"

Hannes suddenly wouldn't make eye contact. "Just hope that he didn't."


	27. Chapter 27: Harry

Four days had passed and Harry felt that he had learned more about Kel in those four days than in all the years he'd known him. He supposed he'd never cared to try to know him before. He hadn't liked him from the moment they'd first met—manipulative, creepy, and too hard to read for Harry's liking—but being stuck with him at all hours of the day had allowed him a decent amount of insight to the odd little creature in the dead man's body.

The first thing he'd learned was that some of the creepiness was very intentional, while some of it was not. Second was that he never asked for help, even when he really needed it. Third, he did some kind of ritual every morning and did a different ritual at night.

And there was something rotten inside him. Not dead. Not missing. Rotten.

Harry was very familiar with the feeling. It was inside the Doctor and Jack, and probably in himself as well. It would likely be in Ganbri some day. It was something that happened to people who were wounded in ways that don't heal, and continue to live with time slowly eating away at it.

Kel was normally extremely guarded and Harry couldn't get any kind of emotional readings from him without having to try hard enough to be sensed, but sharing a room and constant company had afforded some opportunities. He was weakest in the mornings, before performing his little ritual, and emotions simply flowed from him without much restraint. And they were so overwhelming.

It was an odd thing to feel that first morning. He'd always kind of assumed that Kel simply didn't feel much—he'd even entertained the idea of him secretly being a robot from time to time. Getting a glimpse past the façade was equally intriguing and unsettling. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what Kel tried so hard to bury. Harry quickly realized that, with a mind capable of holding back that much, Kel could have the potential to rival him if he ever gained access to a body with telepathic abilities.

He prepared himself for it now. The rush of emotions that poured from Kelevra at the end of his morning ritual was more than enough by itself to make feeling it uncomfortable but, with his fracture still healing, it could be outright painful. Harry buttoned up his shirt, watching Kel finish his movements out of the corner of his eye, and carefully set up a series of walls around his own mind.

The brief storm still hurt. The pressure on his head made him wince and blink stars from his eyes and the emotions themselves made his chest grow tight and his lungs seize, as though someone had driven a sledgehammer into his gut. The sense of that rotten piece of soul was so strong that it was like an overwhelming stench had entered the room, and Harry's stomach coiled in disgust at the way it felt. He applied the cream Kel had given him liberally to his neck, willing his fracture to heal so that he wouldn't be so vulnerable to it.

Then, as quickly as the feeling had come, it passed. Kel took one last purposeful deep breath, opened his eyes, and smiled.

"What is our plan for today?"

Harry moved to the wash basin to remove any residual cream from his hands. "It hasn't changed since we discussed it last night."

"I find it's usually best to revisit a plan just before carrying it out. Make sure everyone is on the same page."

"Find any traces of interdimensional travel," Harry answered with an annoyed sigh, trying to remember how many times he'd explained it already. "A ship, a person, even just a piece of tech—anything that can manipulate time or access the void."

"Might be difficult, given where we are."

"As you've said before," Harry answered irritably. "And, as I've said before, beings from other worlds have been visiting Earth forever. We know what to look for. We'll find something eventually."

"Hmm, I suppose we're here," Kel agreed, picking through his own clothing in a way that seemed either disinterested or distracted. "I wish you would simply write down what we need to do for me, rather than tell me one step at a time."

Harry blinked. That was interesting. Had he meant that literally?

"I might if I trusted you more," he said slowly. "But perhaps one step at a time is a little too cautious."

"I should think so."

Harry couldn't help but glance over at the other man, so carefully making his bed that he didn't think to look up.

"The herbs we've gathered need to ferment. Packing them in an organic body works best. That's what we laid the traps out for yesterday."

"Makes sense," Kel nodded absentmindedly. "So we'll need to head into the woods before dark."

He had forgotten. Kel had an annoying habit of repeating questions or conversations, claiming that it was the best way to ensure he had accurate information, but this was much more than simply repeating a question—he was responding as though he were hearing it for the first time.

It was true that Harry had only been feeding Kel small pieces of the recipe at a time, but he was giving him more than one. He had explained the night before that they would be checking their traps and why they had set them. He'd told him repeatedly that they needed to find something or someone to access the void.

"There's another ingredient that's going to be tricky to find," Harry said casually, watching for a reaction. "I'm only telling you now so that you don't miss an opportunity. We need to harvest it from a human body."

Kel raised an eyebrow. "Can we harvest it from mine?"

"Not without rendering your host body unusable."

"Are you sure? I can compensate for many shortcomings in my host."

"We need brain matter."

"As long as I have the stem intact, I can make it work."

"But having a massive hole in your head might tip off the locals."

Kel paused and pursed his lips. "That does present a problem."

They'd had nearly the same conversation last night. Fascinating.

Telepathy wouldn't work here. Even if he didn't have a fracture holding him back, Kel's mind was more guarded than almost anyone he'd ever met, even Time Lords. He would have to rely on simple charm if he wanted to get anything here.

"Kelevra," he began carefully, waiting for Kel to look up before continuing. "Do you trust me?"

Kel's eyes drifted off to the side slightly, pondering for a moment. "For the most part, yes."

"Does it bother you that I don't trust you?"

"Of course not," he answered with a quick shake of his head.

"Why?"

He looked Harry in the eye, squinting slightly as though he were trying to see something, and smiled. "You're an intelligent man, Professor Mott," he said almost cheerfully. "Intelligent people only trust those whose motives are clear—only then can you predict their behaviour. You want to get back to your family and keep them safe so I know that, as long as I don't get in the way and especially if I can be helpful in you reaching your goals, I have nothing to fear from you. You don't know what I want, so it would be stupid to assume you have nothing to fear from me."

"Then why not just tell me what you want?"

"You wouldn't believe me and you would trust me less."

Harry gave him a half smile, trying to look playful and take some of the seriousness out of the air. "Don't you want to be friends, Kel?"

Kel paused, levelled him with a look that was both suspicious and unamused, and spoke in a voice that was anything but playful. "I can't fight like you or others. I have no significant weapons at my disposal. I have no natural allies. I have no government obligated to protect me. All that keeps me safe in this life, Professor, is what I have in my mind. It's not an easy thing to let go of."

Harry hadn't been expecting an answer quite like that. "So you didn't mean it when you said you trusted me then?"

The seriousness on Kel's face vanished completely, instantly replaced that eerie, dead smile of his. "I said I trusted you for the most part."

Harry shrugged his shoulders, trying not to look too invested. "It's tough to make friends that way. If you let your guard down a little, you might actually make some."

As blank as Kel's face could be at times, it often betrayed him when he was offended, but only for an instant. His left eyebrow shot up and his eyes expressed proper emotion, shooting daggers in Harry's direction in a quick flash before he composed himself again. It was so fast that it was easy to miss.

Harry smirked. "Embarrassment or indignation?" he pushed.

That eyebrow twitched upward again. He was digging through his pockets, pulling items out and putting them back in, trying to distract himself.

"I have a friend," he finally muttered. "And the fact that I choose mine carefully is nothing to be embarrassed of."

"Ferns don't count. Neither does Edmund. They're projects, not friends."

"I am well aware of what qualifies as a friend, pet," he answered, voice gaining a sight rise in pitch and volume with irritation. "Though, with your limited experience of life and the other entities that live it, I have my doubts as to whether you can truly say the same."

'Pet'. That's what he called people when he didn't want to talk to them anymore. He'd be smiling and having a perfectly normal conversation but then someone would say something he didn't like, he'd use that word, and his attitude would become snarky and condescending in a heartbeat. There was nothing more to be learned once that word came out, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

"So . . . a fern then?"

Kel chose not to answer and made a point of not looking in his direction as he bustled about his side of the room, gathering what few possessions he had earned for himself. He was showing his irritation more than he usually did. Harry wondered if it was because he needed more time to finish building his mental blocks or if it was because, despite what he said, he was allowing Harry to see more of him.

"Why do you name them?"

A flicker of vulnerability in the eyes. A split second of hesitation. It was there if he looked hard enough. It was there now that he was learning how to see it.

"Don't pretend to have an interest in my ferns just because you've made things uncomfortable."

"I'm not. I'm showing an interest in my fern." Another shift in the eyes—suspicion, uncertainty. "You never asked me if I wanted to name it. You handed it to me and told me its name was George. If there's one thing I thought I knew about you, it's that you're scientifically minded, and I can't think of any scientific reason for naming a fern. So I want to know why, when I call everything else a rose or a vine or a shrub, I'm still calling that damn fern George."

Kel glanced at him then, making eye contact for a moment as though he were looking for the trick. He didn't say anything, but Harry could almost hear him thinking. Kel crossed the room to retrieve a scarf he'd slung over the back of a chair to dry in the night. It was a gift from a friend of Bridget's—a thank you for his help with her daughter's dislocated wrist. He took a long moment inspecting every knitted loop before carefully wrapping it around his neck.

"Whether or not we are aware of it or can perceive it, everything has a name," he said slowly, staring at the wall beside him instead of at Harry. "I don't know your name. You don't know mine. But I call you Harold and you call me Kelevra. The Doctor, Kevin, Edmund, both of our Jacks—they're not the names we were born with but they serve the same purpose and give us the same sense of familiarity, some even more than the ones given at birth. Names are important." He paused again, carefully tucking the ends of his scarf into his shirt. "Do you really still call it George?"

"I do," Harry answered with a smirk. "And now I know why."

Kel tried not to show it, but Harry could tell he was pleased. "Then I have learned something about you and you have learned something about me. That was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded. "It was."

"Good. Now perhaps we can focus on the mission?"

Bridget had little for them that day. Harry suspected that she was growing fond of them and so was going easy on them. She had an old rocking chair for him to fix, a cupboard hinge that needed replacing, and gave him small pile of wood to chop for the fire.

Despite the cold snow, the morning sun quickly grew warm and he had to roll up his sleeves and wipe sweat from his brow as he worked. He could see Kelevra through the window, making his own contributions by teaching Bridget to make salves and medicines from local plants. Sometimes, if he had nothing in mind to teach her, she would simply get him to help with kitchen prep and cooking. Kel never complained and Harry even saw him smile a real smile once or twice—though perhaps he had only followed Harry's advice to make his smiles more convincing.

It was a nice way to live. Simple and slow paced. If it wasn't for religion and politics and the horrific acts they would bring this town, it might even be a nice place to stay. Ganbri would like it. The Doctor would go mad before long though. Old as he was, he still needed more excitement in his life than most.

Besides, Bridget's tavern was a peaceful haven surrounded by snake dens. There were few in Salem that shared the same philosophies on neighbourly kindness and understanding that Bridget had and even fewer that cared to even be seen in her presence. She was a strong and opinionated woman in a time and place where such a woman was not welcome. She ran her own business, she drank, she argued, and she was on her third husband, with two in the ground. She was not made for the world she was born in.

The people of the town had been quick to tell them all that and more, and to warn them away from her. According to some, her last husband had even accused her of being a witch before he fell ill and died, many took his death as evidence that his accusations were true.

Harry brushed off the warnings with polite thanks and promises to be careful but Kel had a harder time playing the part. He frowned and asked too many questions, sounded too critical. Even Bridget had warned him not to challenge the gossips. "They'll starts whispering about you too," she told him firmly. Harry could only hope that Kel's usefulness as a doctor would be enough to hold back suspicions.

There were others like Bridget, and enough for Harry to easily see the ticking time bomb that would become the trials. Every day he saw another one that would surely play a part—women that didn't care to submit to men, men that didn't care to submit to religion, people with the wrong beliefs or the wrong skin colour, people who simply enjoyed their lives too much or rubbed others the wrong way. More importantly, he saw people with ambitions or grudges or even just a desperation to feel important.

Years ago, he would have taken control of this town, burned half the buildings, and slaughtered the ones who fought back and some who didn't for no other reason than because they annoyed him. And because he could. Now he was chopping wood in the snow to earn his keep, keeping his head down to avoid suspicion, and trying to keep Kel from getting himself killed, even though he didn't trust or particularly like him.

"Harry" had always felt like the man he was for his husband and his son, and for all the people he had come to consider family. But they weren't there now and he suddenly realized that Harry still was.

Their chores were done while it was still morning and Harry had high hopes for the many hours left at their disposal. They had a few miles to walk through the woods to check their traps and he hoped to be back before dark.

Even in the warm sun, Kel pulled his scarf tight around his neck. "I've never hunted this way before," he said almost cheerfully. "It's not considered very effective, is it?"

"Not really," Harry answered truthfully. "But the weather's been calm, so our chances are a little better."

"I can't imagine doing all this walking every day for the chance at a rabbit."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought J.J. trained you too. Don't tell me you get tired?"

"I get bored," Kel confessed with a sigh. "I don't have the same kind of muscle memory that you do and the terrain is too uneven to let my mind wander. As nice as the scenery can be, snow and trees are not very interesting for long."

"Why don't you sing?"

"I don't sing."

"What if your host has a really good voice?"

"Then I'm sure he enjoyed it in life."

Kel never sang during their walk. Harry didn't think he would, but he'd been surprised before. Part of him was kind of hoping that he would suddenly burst out in song just because no one back home would believe it had happened.

Their first trap hadn't caught anything, though there were small tracks in the snow nearby. It was half a mile's walk to the next one and the terrain didn't become any easier. Kel was noticeably silent until they reached the second trap.

This one held a rabbit, not yet stolen by hungry scavengers but dead long enough for the body to stiffen. Kel dropped to his knees beside the trap and started pulling supplies from his bag.

"A good size," he muttered. "A couple more like this should be all we need."

Harry had expected to give a lesson on the process but Kel proved to be a fast learner. He knew enough about the concept of what he was doing to work out the steps on his own for the most part. Harry mostly watched while the other man worked and only intervened twice to correct steps. Within minutes, they had a bag full of ingredients stuffed and sewn inside the rabbit's body and Harry worked at burying it while Kel washed the blood from his hands in the snow.

It was a small victory but it was the first step towards getting them home. Harry felt a surge of energy at the thought and found himself walking a little faster than before on their way to the next trap. He needn't have bothered, as the trap sat empty and so did the final one after that.

He had the highest hopes for the last trap. It was the furthest from town, in an area near the river and thick with trees and brush. It seemed a good place for rabbits and maybe even a deer. There was plenty of evidence of wildlife—tracks and droppings—but the trap sat empty all the same.

The sun was working its way towards the ground, but they still had a couple of hours left before dark. Kel was glancing around the area, taking in details, thinking.

"How's your head, Harold?" he asked after a moment.

It hurt. It had hurt every day since they got there and would hurt for a while yet. Kel's cream helped significantly with most of the side effects of a fracture but didn't quite drown out the pain. Still, he had endured far worse.

"Not bad."

"Well enough to produce a siren song of sorts?"

Now there was an idea. "Most likely." It would be best if they brought something back to Bridget, just in case any traces of blood were found on our clothes.

Kel nodded. "And if you can manage more than one, we can bury the extra. There are tracks here that are fairly fresh."

Harry had never tracked things the old fashioned way before. Usually he could just use his mind to sense where his prey was or pick up the trails of emotion and thought that are so often left behind. It wasn't until the moment that he was following Kel through the trees, watching the way his eyes focused on things that didn't seem to be there that Harry realized that it was entirely possible he had spent more years of his life in the body of a wolf or a bear or some other predator than in a human. Hunting this way may have made more sense to him than hunting with traps . . . or even grocery shopping for that matter.

"Kel, how old are you?"

"Shh."

"Just answer me and I won't talk."

"That's a rude question."

"Bullshit. You don't care."

"Maybe I do."

"Ballpark it then. Are we talking about decades or centuries?" He paused, trying to think of how long Zumecki were capable of living and only just realizing that he wasn't certain. "Millennia?" he added with a touch of uncertainty.

Kel held a hand up for silence and stared off into the trees. "There's one over there," he said after a moment. "Can you call it?"

His head ached at just the thought of it but he pushed the ache aside and tried anyway. Immediately, it felt as though someone were slowly driving an icepick through his temple, pushing deeper until he could feel the pain behind his eyes. It was difficult to project a feeling of calm and safety when the sensation of pain was fighting for all the attention.

"Here it comes," Kel whispered softly.

Harry cracked open an eye just enough to see a rabbit creeping hesitantly from the bushes. It was thinking of approaching but did not seem fully convinced.

He closed his eyes again, concentrating. Warmth. Safety. Food. He felt the pain spreading, a dull pressure gathering in the very front of his forehead now, building and building. He felt the pressure starting to move to his sinuses and knew that his nose would start to bleed soon. It had been so long since he'd had a fracture that he'd forgotten how badly it could hurt.

Suddenly, despite how much he disliked it, he had new respect for the fact that the Doctor had taught himself to have near flawless control of the Beast, fracturing himself over and over again in his determination.

A shriek pierced the air, followed by a sharp crack. Harry opened his eyes to see Kel crouched low with the rabbit's corpse in his hands, head dangling at a bizarre angle. He was already pulling out his skinning knife but his eyes were on the bushes ahead.

"There's another one that popped its head out for a moment," he said quietly. "If you're up for it."

He could manage. The pain was awful but he didn't feel as though it would overwhelm him or cause him to fall. He concentrated and projected the welcoming feeling even stronger than before. The rabbit was aware of the other one that Kel had laid down for skinning and Harry tried to give the impression that it was relaxed and sleeping rather than dead.

Another squeal, another crack, and then there was only the sound of flesh parting and all the smells that accompanied it.

Harry sat down and folded a ball of snow into a handkerchief to hold against his aching head. Kel worked happily. In complete control of which senses his body perceived, Kel was able to shut off his sense of smell while he gutted the animals.

"How long have you been in a human body?"

Kel sighed quietly. "Why do you keep asking me questions?"

"I'm bored." The answer was true but Harry knew that he'd need to offer more than that. "And we might be stuck here for a long time. You're the only person I can talk to normally."

Kel considered that a moment, his hands slowing at their work. "I was in a human body for about two years before I met you. I've been in them a few times in the past as well, though for not nearly as long, and I have spent plenty of time in bodies that were similar to humans."

"Why do you change them so often?"

"Why not?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. The answer came quickly and without thought, in the same manner that the Doctor's answers did when he lied. Perhaps he had been with the Doctor long enough to think he saw his behaviour everywhere now, or perhaps Kel had the same habits. His head hurt too much to bother trying to find out.

He watched silently as Kel packed the rabbit's body with their packages of ingredients and began to sew it up before adding casually, "I suppose I might change bodies more often if I didn't have to die to do it."

There was a sudden movement in the bushes—the snap of branches and the crunch of snow. Harry looked up and found the barrel of a hunting rifle pointed at him and the widened eyes of a terrified old man behind it.

"What kind of monsters are you?" the man asked, trying hard to suppress the tremble in his voice and quickly aiming the gun at Kel instead. "Are you demons?"

Kel shot Harry a look that was more annoyed than worried. He was well away that Harry had a far superior sense of smell than Kel's his human host did. He should have noticed that there was someone nearby—probably would have if his skull didn't feel like it was trying to split open.

"Not demons," Kel answered the man calmly, continuing his sewing. "Just travelers from very far away."

"This is witch's work," the man insisted loudly, gesturing with the gun towards the rabbit corpse that Kel was stitching. "And you speak of unholy possession."

Kel sighed, dropped his needle in the snow, and rose to his feet. "I'm sure it looked like witch's work the first time a man skinned a rabbit for its fur too. Or the first time a man brewed tea for that matter. Or how about pulling metal from the earth and creating that magical weapon in your hands?"

Harry was watching the man carefully, looking for a sign of something he could work to his advantage. He didn't have the strength to hypnotize or telepathically persuade him in any way but he had simply talked his way out of bad situations before. Kel wasn't helping things though. He had blood halfway up his forearms and didn't flinch or even pretend to look concerned when the gun was pointed at him—not exactly comforting for a man who thinks he might be looking at a demon.

Harry knew the man from Salem's history books. He owned an enormous amount of land and his property was very near where they were. He supposed it might have been possible that they had actually crossed onto his land without realizing it. A stupid mistake.

"Mr. Corey?" Harry said, trying to sound vulnerable and nervous as any normal might would. "That's your name, right? We met the other day in town."

He was looking at Harry now, looking for something familiar. Yes, there it was. They had met only briefly and Harry had to be careful not to say more than what he should know about him.

"You know that my friend here is a doctor, Mr. Corey," Harry continued slowly. "This isn't witchcraft. He's trying new methods for making medicines, that's all. Think of it like fermenting or tanning—unusual processes that need to be tested and tried first. If it works, we can teach the whole town how to make their own medicines. It's for the good of the people."

He hesitated, glancing down at the rabbit. "But the things you were speaking of . . ."

"Nothing but fantasies," Harry answered quickly. "It's cold and we've travelled together long enough to run out of things to talk about. It was all only games of the imagination."

He looked unsure but Harry knew he could convince him. Every human wants to believe they're safe. Even when faced with something that terrified them, they wanted to believe that they were dreaming or being tricked somehow. Harry knew what history said about the man named Giles Corey—he was brave beyond words. They would never be able to make him run or frighten him into silence. They had to win him over or else he'd shoot them both right then and there.

And then Kel opened his mouth.

"The bodies I possess are already dead. It doesn't harm anyone."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "He doesn't know what he's saying. He breathes in toxins during his work and they confuse him."

"What's the point in lying, Harry? He can't kill either of us." Kel smiled pleasantly at the man, as if he couldn't see the weapon pointed straight at him. "You see, if you shoot me, I'll simply take a new body. If you shoot him, he'll grow a new one. I actually haven't seen him do that yet but I would like to so, by all means—"

"You can see he's unwell, Mr. Corey," Harry cut in quickly. "Please, just let me take him back to town to rest."

It wasn't going to work. He could see the fear in Mr. Corey's eyes growing—a dread realization that perhaps he had started something he couldn't finish—and Harry's injured mind lacked the strength to force a different reaction. With just a few sentences, Kel had ensured that there was no peaceful way out of the situation.

"I find it curious that you seem determined to keep that thing pointed at me," Kel added, staring down the barrel of the gun as though he found the whole thing boring.

"You're a demon!" Mr. Corey answered quickly. His grip on the gun tightened and Harry could see him preparing himself to pull the trigger, loudly reaffirming his beliefs to strengthen himself.

"Perhaps," Kel answered with a nod. "But you must admit that one of us has been honest and one of us hasn't. Everyone knows that the father of lies is none other than the Devil himself. So who should you really be afraid of?"

It wasn't a very good argument. Given a moment to think, Mr. Corey probably would have recognized that Kel had only said it to move the attention away from himself. But that tiny moment of doubt—a split second in which he looked at Harry, searching his eyes for either a sign of humanity or the stain of evil and let the gun barrel drift in his direction—was all that Kel had needed.

Kelevra pulled a pistol from inside his coat, pointed it at Mr. Corey, and pulled the trigger.

The bang ripped through the silent woods and the clean, white snow was sprayed with deep red. Corey's gun never went off. Kel had aimed for the base of his skull, shooting straight through his brain stem so that he didn't even have the chance to contract his fingers.

There was no shocked or pained facial expression. Every muscle in his face slacked and Harry knew he was dead before his knees buckled. When the body hit the ground, Harry looked over to see Kel calmly tucking his Torchwood pistol back into his coat.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a gun?"

"I always have a gun," Kel answered. "It came with us but I wasn't going to wave around an advanced weapon from the future now, was I?"

Harry scowled. "You just murdered a man."

"And we murdered two rabbits." Kel pulled out the knife he had used to gut the rabbits earlier. "His body is more than big enough for our needs. We won't need any more rabbits, we now have the brain matter we needed, and we don't need to worry about our secret getting out. That's what they call a win-win, isn't it?"

Harry stared in silence while Kel set to work opening up his stuffed rabbit and removing the contents. He cut into Corey's belly without even flinching and began removing organs. Harry was no stranger to violence or murder but he had never thought of Kel as the type to have the stomach for it. But his hands were steady and his eyes unburdened.

Rabbits, humans, and probably Time Lords too—they were all just machines of meat to him.

"He was going to die anyway," Harry found himself saying. "Next year they were going to accuse him of witchcraft. When he doesn't plea innocent or guilty, they torture him to death. He never gives in. It takes three days."

Kel paused his work and looked up, his icy eyes seeming to pierce through him. Then he smiled.

"Then you could say that he's been done a kindness. I'm sure anyone would prefer a near instant and painless death to that."

Harry nodded and watched Kel work in silence for a moment longer. Steam was rising for Mr. Corey's open belly and the warm blood pouring from the back of his head was melting the snow beneath him. His skull was almost fully intact, which meant that a large portion of the brain should have been in good shape and hopefully had little shrapnel in it.

He wouldn't know for sure until he harvested it and got a good look.

"I'll be right back," Harry announced, rising to his feet. "I'm going to find a rock."


	28. Chapter 28: Kevin

It had been difficult to remain optimistic. Doug had asked for a week and it had only been five days so far, but the task before them just felt impossible.

They were both only human, raised on Earth during an age when their species had not even reached beyond their own solar system. The concept of travelling through time or to other universes was still reserved for movies, comic books, and dreams. How could they possibly be expected to figure it all out?

His hormone patch had completely worn off two days ago. Normally he changed it every day but he had left it on for as long as possible, hoping that it would last. It did for a little while. At first, he blamed the emotional changes on their situation. Why wouldn't he be depressed, given how hopeless their situation was? Why wouldn't he be emotional, seeing that he might never see his friends or family again? At this point, he knew that it was more than that though—his body was betraying him again. It was bad enough to be stranded on a foreign world, away from everything he knew and loved, without feeling like he was losing himself too. Everything just felt wrong.

Doug was very understanding and he never said a word about it, other than to offer encouragement.

"Just a little longer," he kept saying. "I've heard there's a mechanic who builds portal engines. I just need to find him."

Kevin was trying to mirror that optimism, knowing that the situation must have been hard on his companion too, but it didn't seem like he was convincing enough. Doug was being too gentle with him—too helpful. It was the kind of behaviour he'd expect to see if he was sick or if someone had died.

Doug had gone to the market without him today. Kevin woke up to his massive hand on his shoulder and a whispered reassurance that Doug would be back in a few hours and that he should just rest.

He found it simultaneously relieving and annoying. He appreciated Doug's kindness and he had no desire to get out of bed that morning, but it made him feel like some kind of invalid. Still, he closed his eyes and slept.

When he opened them again, Doug had returned and was working silently in the corner of their room. He had brought in a few pieces of machinery that he'd bought, he had tools out, and he was clearly half way through putting his project together. For a man who was infamous for being as loud as he was big, he could be a proper church mouse when he wanted to.

It was the kind of thing he'd only seen in a few people before—an almost supernatural ability to tiptoe and an almost uncontrollable need to be helpful. He'd seen it in one of his good friends from college, in his own mother, and he'd seen it in Jack, especially at night. Once that thought occurred to him, he realized that they'd all had one thing in common—a history of abuse.

He'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself the last couple of days that it had taken until that moment to notice it.

"Doug."

Doug flinched and his head whipped around immediately, like Kevin had expected it to, but then he broke out immediately into a wide grin. "Hey," he said, his normally booming voice brought down to something soft and soothing. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No. I just . . . what time is it?"

"I was gonna get some lunch soon. You hungry?"

"No, I'll do it. Thanks." He sat up and looked at the small machine that was slowly being put together in the corner. "How's it going?"

"Uh, well," Doug scratched his head, trying to hold his smile. "It's a fucking tricky bastard, that's for sure, but I'm getting there. It's easy to find people who are familiar with the theoretical science, but not as easy to find people who actually have experience building or using these things. But, hey, don't worry, mate. I'll get it figured out."

He felt like an ass now.

"You're doing great, Doug," he said, trying his best to express warmth in his voice. "I'm sorry if I haven't been very helpful the last couple days. I hope you realize how much I appreciate how hard you've been working."

Doug smiled, widely and in a perfectly natural sense of happiness. "Fuck, mate, it's just, you know, computer shit," he answered, sounding almost embarrassed.

"Is there anything I can do?"

His face changed a little—a flicker of hesitation "No. I got it."

"Doug, come on."

"No, no, don't worry about it. I've got everything I need up here," he said, tapping a finger to the side of his head.

 _Need_.

"There's something you want then."

Doug grinned sheepishly. "It's not important. The market has all kinds of stuff. It's easy to get distracted."

"Tell me what it is."

Doug scratched at the back of his head awkwardly, eyes staring at the equipment before him to avoid looking up. "It's probably just a scam anyway."

"Just fucking tell me."

"I met a guy who . . . he wasn't interested in any of the memories I told him I would trade but . . . he was offering the memory he said was of experiencing a god." He paused for a moment, his face tensing under what was undoubtedly a mounting sense of embarrassment. "I thought I could learn something about Wolves. The stuff he said was more specific than your garden-variety spirituality seller. It sounded like my experience with Edmund. Sounded legit . . ."

It sounded ridiculous. Street-corner preachers had been robbing hopefuls with empty promises since time began.

"What did he want for it?"

Doug looked up, looking a little surprised at the question. "Something unique. Something that he couldn't just go experience for himself. Nothing I had fit the bill that wasn't classified."

Now he looked nervous. Kevin noted the slightly widened eyes, simultaneously trying to avoid eye contact and yet being unable to look away. He was hoping for a good answer and dreading a bad reaction. Just like Jack.

"Well, I guess I've probably got some memories that qualify."

Relief washed over Doug's face instantly. "It's not really important though," he said quickly. "I mean, I don't even know if I'll learn anything from it at all or—"

"You can't feel Edmund here, right?"

He paused. "No," he answered quietly. "I can't feel any of them."

That was enough then. Even if there was nothing new to learn, it might give Doug some comfort in what must have been a lonely time. Kevin hadn't felt it himself, but he'd been told what the connection with Edmund felt like and he'd seen how it affected Jack.

It was hard enough being lost and cut off from the people you loved. Kevin couldn't imagine how it would feel if he'd gotten used to something soothing him all the time and losing that at the same moment. He wondered if it might be something like withdrawal. Perhaps it felt even worse than his own current experience of suddenly losing access to his hormone therapy.

"We'll go," he said finally, making himself smile. "We'll go get some lunch and then you can take me to meet him."

Doug grinned from ear to ear. "Okay."

As impressive as the market had been when they first saw it, it was a true wonder during the day. Kevin had seen aliens during his years with Torchwood but, if he sat down and counted them out, he had probably only encountered a dozen species or so before. Here, there were a hundred people in his field of vision at any time, and each was from a different planet in a different galaxy. Everywhere they went, he could hear babble of countless languages that he never knew existed and that he would likely never hear again.

He saw people that looked human, some that looked _almost_ human, and some that looked nowhere close. There were people whose heads only reached his knees and some that towered several feet above even Doug. Some seemed to have more than one face and some didn't seem to have any face at all. They clicked and hummed and growled and cooed at every stall, trading memories and goods as though there were nothing amazing at all about what they were doing.

The man that Doug took him to see did not have a stall set up. Instead, he had a blanket laid out on a rock beside him holding a few trinkets and a couple of small signs that likely indicated memories he was selling. His age was hard to tell because Kevin had never seen one of his species before. He had many wrinkles that covered the lilac skin of his face and body and he had white hair that grew from his ears, flowing down the side of his face and eventually weaving into the long braid of his beard, but he moved much like Kevin or anyone around his own age did.

"This is him," Doug said excitedly as they neared the man. "Hello, sir."

The man looked them up and down quickly before smiling. "You're back."

"I brought a friend with me. I think he might have some memories that would interest you."

"Something new?"

"I hope so."

Even among the stars, it seemed that transgender people were rare and people, as ever, were curious. Kevin barely began his explanation of his experience growing up before the man's eyes lit up with interest. He asked only a couple of questions, centered around whether humans had the ability to change their bodies at will and on the social structure of Earth regarding gender. Each answer Kevin gave made him more confident that his offer was enough.

"Being lost and finding your way is a story I have heard a thousand times before," the man said finally. "But it is one of the best stories, and yours is in a form I haven't heard before. I agree that this is acceptable to trade."

Kevin let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding while the man motioned for a priest. Doug gave him a strong clap on the back and he couldn't help but feel pleased. A lifetime of unwelcome questions meant that this story was one he didn't care to share often, but this was more than satisfying a stranger's curiosity. It could teach them about Wolves. It could help them get home. At the very least, it could help Doug.

"This experience changed me as a person," the man said slowly. "I need to know everything now. I need to experience everything, even sad and painful things. Know that it will likely change you as well. One life alone may not feel like enough."

Kevin smiled and held his hand out towards the approaching priest. "It never does, mate."

The seller looked Kevin in the eye with a knowing smile and slipped his hand into the priest's. The connection was established and Kevin suddenly felt as though he were falling from the sky. The memories, peaceful as they were, rushed at him with an intensity he hadn't felt in any of the other memory transactions he had engaged in so far.

Everything that came to him had an odd feel to it—blurred and twitching, as if his mind couldn't quite understand it. He saw the life that the seller used to have, simple and quiet, walking through an enormous field and herding small animals that Kevin didn't recognize. The sun was setting and the sky growing dark but, when he looked up, he could see a faint, pulsating glow from just beyond the hill. The blue light seemed to call to him— _Don't you want to find out?_ And it felt as if there was no choice other than to find it.

He couldn't remember the journey, only the call, and soon it began to feel like they were calling to each other, feeding each other. He climbed over the hilltop and saw it, and the memory jumped and danced about as he tried to understand. There was a perfectly round hole in the ground that reminded him of a crater from a meteor impact, except that there were no signs of anything so violent. There were no broken stones or scorches on the ground. There was no dragging trail where it would have first touched. There was only a perfectly round shape, as if a nest had been gently scooped from the dirt.

In the center, he could see a creature curled up as though asleep. He couldn't quite make out what it was, as it seemed as if its shape were changing right in front of him. Short limbs seemed to stretch out and become long. A slender neck seemed to shrink back into itself and become shorter. Its pale skin seemed to bubble and move, pulsing gently with that pale glow all the while.

 _Don't you want to know?_

He climbed down into the nest, stretching his hand out without hesitation. The pale flesh was cold, but he felt it grow warm at the very moment that his fingers connected. His knees buckled and he sat helplessly in the dirt, seemingly unable to move. The creature shuddered and twitched and then its whole body heaved with a great, deep breath. Somehow, he knew that it was the first.

Pale, glowing eyes opened and gazed up at him. And he felt that call deep within him, stronger than ever. He wanted to know. He _needed_ to. What was it and where did it come from? What did it want? What would it do?

Before he could stop himself, he was wrapping his arms around its glowing body and lifting. It scrambled to get its legs underneath itself and it managed after a couple of tries. It reminded Kevin of a new born foal, with long spindly legs that quivered beneath its weight and a kind of innocent fragility about it. He didn't know how long he stayed with it, watching as it learned to use its body, but the glow of the distant sun was peering over the horizon by the time it started running.

He ran with it. He watched the joy on its face—felt the joy with it. It was pure and simple and driven by nothing other than the desire to _see_. And why not? What else was there to do except go everywhere?

The next thing Kevin knew, he was kneeling on the ground in the market, clutching some sort of container that he had clearly emptied his stomach into. Doug was patting his back and the man who sold him the memory simply stood there, watching with that knowing smile still in place.

He didn't remember sitting down or throwing up. One moment, he was preparing for the transaction and the next he was there. The priest was gone—must have scurried off as soon as he felt something was amiss—and people were looking over at them strangely, but Kevin didn't care. That thing was a Wolf, just like Edmund, he was sure of it. Now he knew with certainty that Edmund wasn't the only one.

But how many were there? And _what_ were they?

His mind started filling up with questions and all the while he could feel it, like a whispering voice in the back of his mind, calling to him quietly.

 _Don't you want to know?_

"Thank you," he sputtered out, climbing to his feet. "Thank you."

He grabbed Doug's arm and began to drag him away.

"That was fucking it," Doug said happily. "That was _it_. What did it feel like?"

He didn't know how to describe it. How could he? What could he say? He always found it strange that Jack never gave him much detail on his experience with Edmund. He'd always assumed it was just one of those things he preferred not to talk about. Now he understood. He wanted to explain but he just didn't know how. The words simply didn't exist.

But he had to know.

"Let's find another priest and do an exchange."

Doug raised an eyebrow. "An exchange?"

"I want to see the moment you were infected. We have a better chance of learning something if we're both working on it. Is that okay?"

"Good idea," Doug nodded enthusiastically. "Not here though. We got too much attention."

Inai wasn't home. They would have to wait for her to return to do the exchange if they didn't want to make another public performance. They both sat and stared at the pile of parts on the floor, knowing that they should be working and seeming unable to do it. Kevin just couldn't think of anything other than that strange, pulsing light.

"Did it . . . Did it feel like an identity to you?" Doug asked after several minutes had passed in silence. "The feeling—whatever it was—was it _just_ a feeling or was it—?"

"It was more," Kevin answered quickly, without even needing to think about it. "It's like it was . . . me."

Doug nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face. "Yeah."

"You think it's an identity?"

"Yeah," he nodded again. "Like a name. I think it's who they are. The first thing you do when you meet someone new or if you want someone to trust you is to tell them your name. Before language, we would have identified each other by physical appearance. Dogs smell each other . . . These things are just so fucking beyond us."

Kevin wished he could talk to Edmund. He wished he could ask and understand.

"How is that Edmund still can't talk to us?" he muttered, shaking his head. "After all these years . . . if he's so advanced, why can't he talk?"

Without a second's hesitation, Doug answered quietly, "How would you talk to an amoeba?"

Kevin frowned. He'd heard that before. Jack had said it once. Kevin had been working extensively with Kel to establish communication but it was slow and frustrating. He complained about it being so difficult and Jack, without offering any further explanation, had quietly said the same thing.

"What made you say that?"

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "I think I read it somewhere. It makes sense, doesn't it? We wouldn't know how. They wouldn't even be able to perceive that we existed."

Those words nagged at Kevin's mind while they waited. There was something about it—the way Doug and Jack had both said it in such a similar way. He couldn't help but think that perhaps they weren't their own words.

He kept thinking of that strange pulsing light and the little blue creature it came from. He thought of the curiosity he'd felt, looking at the glow just beyond the hill and how strong the feeling grew so quickly. He had been infected by a Wolf, he was confident in that, but there was something else.

The creature he'd seen was not like Edmund. Its body was organic and fluid, while Edmund's seemed cold and awkward. It had taken some time for the Wolf to learn to stand and run, but it had adapted quickly. After so long, Edmund still struggled with motor control from time to time.

And those words just kept bouncing around in his head, over and over again.

 _How would you talk to an amoeba? Don't you want to know?_

He didn't realize how lost in thought he'd been until he heard Inai return. Doug had gone quietly back to work on his machine and Kevin had sat there in silence, his mind poring over a thousand memories.

He had to know.

Inai was happy to provide her services, as always. Kevin wondered how much she would glean from the experience. Would she become infected too? Had the priest in the market been infected? He had hurried away so quickly that Kevin never gotten a chance to see his reaction. Part of him felt that he should warn Inai, but the rest of him disagreed, worried that she might change her mind and refuse to assist in the transaction.

Doug wisely grabbed whatever he could find that would work as a bucket and brought it over. Inai raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously but said nothing. In her line of work, Kevin was sure she had seen more than a few odd memories transferred.

Inai sat on the floor between them, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hands. Doug took one, suddenly looking very solemn as his massive hand enveloped hers, and gave a quick nod. Kevin reached out to take the other.

This memory felt easier to take. Perhaps it was because he was familiar with the place or familiar with the people, but his mind seemed to accept the images happily.

Doug was standing alone with Edmund inside his cell, those wide, glowing eyes staring curiously at him. There were small beads of sweat running down the back of his neck, along his spine. He was nervous and unsure and he felt abandoned.

Something had happened only moments earlier that left Harry throwing up and missing memory. Harry said he was fine but how the fuck did he know? He could be fucking dying for all anyone knew. Edmund could have done anything to him. Yet, instead of investigating properly, everyone had taken Harry at his word and they all seemed fine with leaving Doug to be the guinea pig.

He was supposed to let Edmund put his hands in his throat—feel around and play his vocal chords like fucking guitar strings. Was he supposed to be okay with that? Would it have been cowardly to refuse?

Celeste wouldn't think so. But everyone else would. Someone like Nista would end up doing it—tiny and terrified and fierce as he was—and Doug would never hear the end of it. Nista already thought he was a coward and Harry rarely asked him to do anything because he thought he was stupid.

He had to suck it up, he knew. He had to take a deep breath and close his eyes and let this fucking ghost _thing_ put its hand in his throat and just hope that he didn't die.

"Okay," he said, trying not to stammer. "Go ahead."

Edmund didn't move. He just sat there, staring and tilting his head. He used his spider-like hands to sign the word 'friend'.

"You wanna learn to talk, yeah?" He said, trying to hold his nerve and resisting to urge to simply walk out. "Well, fucking go on then."

Edmund blinked slowly and took a deep breath. Doug was immediately aware that the breath was some attempt to communicate, though he wasn't sure what. He just knew that Edmund didn't actually need to breathe and only appeared to do so in order to seem more human.

Then Edmund began to stand up. His long legs unfolded and lifted him until he stood over Doug. The feeling of looking _up_ at someone was rare for him and, suddenly, he understood why Celeste had always emphasized the need for him to use submissive and nonthreatening body language.

He was scared. The nervousness he felt a moment ago felt like nothing at that moment and he would have happily welcomed it back. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of the cell He to find someone else—someone human. Where was Celeste?

Edmund lifted his hand and a long, pale finger reached out for him. His legs wouldn't move. His arms wouldn't move. He couldn't run or defend himself in any way. All he could do was watch as Edmund's finger neared his face.

Everything seemed to jerk then, like reality had somehow glitched and he had skipped a few seconds. Doug blinked the dizziness away and stepped back, his knees feeling a little weak. Edmund was still standing there but his arms were at his sides now, his face looking calm and hopeful.

Doug took a couple of deep breaths in and it felt much easier now, like a tight band around his chest had been removed. His heart beat slowly and strong, and every muscle in his body seemed to radiate with a quiet but confident power.

Somewhere out there, he knew Harry felt the same. He knew that was why he had given Doug this task. He knew it was safe. He knew Edmund was safe. He wouldn't have asked him to do this if he thought that Doug could get hurt. Even if something _had_ happened, the building was full of people who would help.

Celeste would carry him to medical if she had to, though Harry would probably have to help her. Nista would brave a fight against something as powerful as even Edmund if it meant defending someone on his team. Ganbri and Annie would be right beside him. Kel and Kevin would work tirelessly to keep him alive and help him. The Captain would stand guard as they worked, silently watching and praying for him. He didn't know what Declan would do, but he'd run around in a panic and be frightened for him, so he supposed it was the thought that counted.

When Edmund's white hands reached for his throat, he didn't tense up or flinch this time. Even if he couldn't see them, he was surrounded by people who cared about him and would take care of him if anything happened. But Edmund would never hurt him anyway.

He was loved here. He was safe here.

Knowing that, how could he be afraid?

Kevin opened his eyes to find that he as clutching one of Doug's makeshift buckets to his chest. His stomach was rolling and his muscles hurt from clenching and heaving, but nothing had come out other than a small amount of fluid. He wished he had eaten something between this transfer and the last so that this part would have been a little easier. His stomach was still clenching and jerking, apparently unsatisfied that there had not been more to expel.

Doug, however, was still emptying the contents of his stomach and making an awful noise while doing so.

Kevin waited for him to finish calmly, remembering the new experience in his head over and over again. He knew he was supposed to be trying to pick out clues and connect pieces, but all he could think of was how happy he was that Jack had been infected. If this feeling was what Edmund had given him, then it was nothing short of a gift, and Kevin was grateful for it.

Doug was hanging his head over his bucket, catching his breath. "Fucking hell," he groaned. "That sucks. Oh, I didn't think it would get me. Fuck."

It was only then that Kevin noticed Inai hadn't moved. She sat between them, silent and unmoving. At first, Kevin thought that she might just be in some sort of shock but, as he looked more carefully, he could see that it was more than that. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, like her mind had wandered away without her.

"Inai?"

Doug looked up at the concern in Kevin's voice and his eyes immediately snapped back to attention. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat up straight, staring intently.

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know." Kevin reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake. "Inai, can you hear me?"

Doug was starting to look panicked now. "Fuck, did we break her?"

They might have. Kevin swallowed hard. He knew what an impact the experiences had had on him by themselves; he hadn't even stopped to think about what might happen with Inai receiving both at once.

He placed his fingers on the side of her neck and quickly found a pulse—a normal, steady rhythm. Her breathing appeared normal too. But, then again, she wasn't human. He didn't know what she was.

He moved directly in front of her, looking into her eyes for any sign of life. He waved his hands in front of her, casting shadows over her eyes to see if her pupils reacted. They didn't, and he began cursing in his head. He was just about to tell Doug to call for help when she blinked.

He froze, watching eagerly. Her eyes made tiny movements, slowly shifting back into focus, and the glazed look disappeared. Kevin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was clearly looking at him, seeing him.

"I am here," she said.

"Are you okay?" Kevin asked quickly. "Do you have any pain? Numbness?"

"Hello," she answered quietly. Her eyes started looking around the room and she pulled her arms in close to herself, suddenly looking nervous or frightened.

"Inai," Kevin said sharply, trying to move himself back to the center of her vision. "Look at me. Can you hear me?"

"Hello. Hello. Help." Her eyes focused on Kevin's face, then looked over to Doug and focused on him instead. "Friend. Help."

Doug cast Kevin a sideways glance, hesitating before opening his mouth and speaking in a near whisper, "Edmund?"

Inai gave a distressed gasp, almost like she was in pain.

She whimpered, "I am here."


	29. Chapter 29: Annabelle

Annie looked to the battle beneath her—a raging war, interrupted by a horde of screaming shadows. It was chaos. All hell had broken loose in the city through the portal. Weapons of all kinds were being fired from every direction. People were tripping over each other, trying to run away. In the sky, the battle ships had all begun to completely ignore each other, their feuds temporarily forgotten in a feverish fear of the blackness that had come to swallow them whole.

Already, she could see those greasy creatures returning through the portals, dragging smoky shadows behind them. If the Doctor was to be believed, each one was a dead Time Lord. He wasn't just sacrificing the humans of Earth; he was cannibalizing his own people. And then he stood there, smiling like a fool and acting like he hadn't done a thing to harm anyone.

She couldn't decide if he was lying through his teeth or if he actually believed his own words.

It was madness.

She turned her eyes back towards the man who once called himself the Doctor—the man she might have called Uncle John. He looked different, but he was familiar in his own way. She hated that she could see the man she'd grown up with in him. She hated the excited gleam in his eye and the way he folded his hands over each other and swayed gently on his heels, like a child waiting for something good to happen. It was the same way he always looked on Christmas morning.

"What can you possibly hope to have at the end of all this?"

He didn't stop smiling but his eyes were cold. "Only what there should be, of course," he answered cheerfully. "There are people who died who shouldn't have. There were people who should have been born that weren't. You were one of them. Now you're here. Eventually, they'll all be back and it'll be right."

"But I'm not _back_ ," she answered, trying to keep the venom from her voice. "I wasn't born here. I'm not the same person as the Annie that was lost. I'm someone else, stolen to fill her shoes."

He made a face as though he were irritated. "Well, if you want to get picky about it . . ."

"It's theft," she said firmly, carefully watching the way the muscles around his eyes hardened. "It's kidnapping."

He was trying to ignore her but his jaw had set firmly. His eyes were staring at the portals but they weren't seeing anything. It was the same face he made when she and Ganbri had broken some tool of his while trying to figure out what it was. It was the face he made when he was trying to hold in his temper.

"And it's murder," she added, trying her hardest to make her words sting.

"You don't get to tell me what it is!" he snapped at her suddenly, turning quickly on his heel. "There are wounds in the flow of this universe that I am _trying_ to fix! I know what I'm doing here. I'm a Time Lord and _you_ are just a silly little human girl!"

She stepped forward a little so that she was standing more even with his body. If she was too far back, he might turn to face her and then he was more likely to raise his right hand. She could work with that, but it would just be so much easier if he raised his left.

"Now it comes out, doesn't it?" she shot back, pulling up every memory she had of her mother scolding someone, trying to hit the same notes and add the same emphasis. "Just a silly little human girl? You think you're so much better than everyone here because we're human and that we can all just be sacrificed to your insane plan. Just rats. Just guinea pigs. Just _human_."

His hands were starting to tremble and his face was contorting into something ugly. All the smoothness of youth disappearing under wrinkles of bubbling anger.

"I'm trying to save this world." His voice trembled too. She could hear it, simmering beneath his attempts to stay calm. It was the voice she heard shortly before he would tell Ganbri to go to his room and ask her to go home.

And she knew that it was the voice of his last bit of patience. She knew how to push. She knew what he'd done and what would have hurt the most—what he would try to deny the most. That third crown at Torchwood had once belonged to a Queen.

"You're trying to save one of your own," she spat. "And you were fine with feeding my mother, someone who was supposed to be your _friend_ , to that _thing_ in order to do it. But she was just a human so there's no point in feeling guilty of murdering—"

"There is no blood on my hands!"

That was the moment she had been waiting for—that she had pushed for. Suddenly his face didn't look like a light-hearted young man. She saw a snarling beast before her, teeth bared and eyes alive with fire. He had thrust a pointed finger at her, shaking freely as the words exploded from his mouth.

His left hand.

She had never been particularly good at this move, but she usually practiced it on other Torchwood members who were expecting it. The Doctor was blinded with anger and too distracted with denying his guilt to pay attention. She only had to step forward once to reach the hand that he had pointed at her, twisting his wrist and twirling her body, bringing herself closer and forcing his arm to twist behind him. She could feel joints cracking as she yanked upward with force that she usually held back in training. A loud pop and a scream confirmed that she had dislocated his shoulder. The shock of the pain made him stop fighting for just a second and she took advantage of that moment to reach for the crown on his head.

Her fingers wrapped around the cold, hard metal and she pulled, but the crown didn't budge. Instead of coming free, his head simply moved with it. Seeing it up close, she could see the small puckered marks in his scalp around the metal—somehow, he had attached it to himself surgically.

She had suspected that she would be unable to get the crown, so she had a backup plan.

He had collapsed to his knees and she drove the dislocated arm further upwards, trying to pin his chest to the ground and giving her access to his hand. Either he had figured out what she was doing or he was tensing up purely as a reaction to being attacked, but his fist was clenched tight and she didn't want to spend precious seconds trying to force it open. She never thought of Uncle John as much of a warrior, but she'd seen enough in the few times he had trained with them to know that he could take care of himself. She didn't care to find out just how good he was.

Without hesitating, she grabbed the knife she had brought with her and drove it in. He screamed louder and began to thrash about, trying to get her to let go. She knew the pain of pushing against that shoulder must have been torturous, but she also knew that it wouldn't stop him for long.

Cutting off a finger sounds easier than it is. The bone was thin and yet it put up a hell of a fight. Blood was pouring out and making her grip on the knife slick but she felt the bone starting to give, weakening and cracking as she forced the knife in a sawing motion, until finally it came free.

She leapt back, prize in hand, suddenly panicking at the thought that now she had to get away. She looked up instinctively to her father for guidance, but it was Celeste who stepped in.

Celeste rushed forward like a bull, almost knocking Annie aside. "Go!" she roared, lifting a heavy boot and dropping it down on the Doctor's wounded shoulder. "Get the fuck out of here!"

Shaun made it to the door first, holding it open for them to follow. Annie glanced over her shoulder as she ran at Rose rushing behind her, looking pale and almost sick. Behind her, Celeste was savagely kicking at the Doctor's shoulder, desperately trying to keep him down. Even as she was striking though, Annie could see the Doctor's face setting like a stone, getting his good arm underneath him to push himself up.

Time Lords could take a beating, she knew that. Uncle Harry had been hit by a car when she was little and walked away with nothing but some scratches and bruising. Grandad told her once that he'd seen Uncle John jump from a ship in the sky and, though he was hurt, he survived the fall. She'd seen Ganbri take some hits in training that she knew would have snapped anyone else's ribs like toothpicks and he'd walk away smiling, not even aware of how strange it was. The man they needed to escape now was a Time Lord, and one that was seasoned when it came to pain—a dislocated shoulder, a severed finger, and a few good kicks weren't going to do anything more than piss him off once he got back on his feet.

She was barely down the first flight of stairs and her heart was already pounding so hard, it felt like it might burst. She was scared, she realized. There was a horde of monsters outside and almost every human in the city was long since dead, but all she could think about was that horrible look in the Doctor's eyes.

He wanted to kill her, of that she was certain. He wanted to kill her and he was smarter than her, he had more tools at his disposal, and he was hard as hell to slow down, let alone kill.

Everything up until that moment had felt so surreal that it almost seemed as if what happened didn't matter, like it was all just pretend somehow. It felt like Uncle John was just at home, tending to his projects and whining at Uncle Harry in that weirdly flirty way for something, and the man who was here was nothing more than some kind of training simulation. But the instant his face twisted up in that horrid way was like seeing a beloved dog snarling for the first time and suddenly just realizing how much damage it could do if it wanted to.

"We're not just leaving her are we?" Rose was shouting as they rushed down the stairs. "Is she gonna be okay!?"

"She's the toughest person I know," Shaun answered quickly. "If anyone would be okay, it'd be her."

"She's the toughest person you know because everyone else is dead!"

"Shit," Annie breathed, clutching the finger in her hand and letting those words sink in. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Everyone else was dead. He'd killed all of them. He'd killed them all without even trying—by _accident_ even—and she'd just attacked him and cut off his finger. What the _fuck_ was she thinking?

It didn't matter now, she decided. She got what she needed—the Doctor's wedding ring. It might have looked like ordinary gold to the untrained eye, but Annie was familiar enough with extraterrestrial materials and with her uncle's ring to know that it was what she needed to make the crown work. She kept squeezing her hand, making sure that she could feel the hard metal around the quickly cooling finger and that she hadn't failed to take it. She would have held it up for them to see but she was terrified of dropping it.

The sharp bang of several gunshots echoed through the stairwell and yet it wasn't as frightening as the sound that came next.

" _Annabelle_!"

It sounded more like an animal than a man—a voice twisted into something monstrous with rage. Heavy feet were thumping down the stairs above them, far quicker than she'd like.

"I think we need to have a little talk!"

Her mind raced back to when they were teenagers and J.J. had convinced half the family to start going for a run every day. Uncle John would race off ahead of them without even trying and then get annoyed that he had to keep slowing down. He was so fast so effortlessly, and now he was in a younger body.

"We can't outrun him," she said as quietly as she could while still allowing the others to hear her. "The second he gets off these stairs, he's going to catch up to us."

Her father looked surprised. "He's injured," he answered, sounding confused. "He's bleeding."

"It won't matter," Rose answered quickly.

She wasn't looking behind her anymore, so couldn't see Shaun's face but she knew his voice well enough to know he was concerned now. "I've never run from him before. What do we do?"

She didn't know. They were nearing the last flight of stairs. They had to have a plan in the next few seconds or he would catch them.

"He'll expect us to give Shaun the ring and split up," Rose spoke in a low voice. "If we scatter, he'll chase you. Will the shadows attack any of us right now?"

"Not while they're in battle. We're in trouble once they return though."

Annie didn't like the direction Rose's words were going, but she didn't have an alternative and there was no more time.

"Shaun, run through the horde," Rose said with finality. "He'll let us go and he'll try to find you. He has some telepathic ability but he's not very good at it—the horde will keep you hidden."

Annie shot a look over her shoulder and nearly missed a step because of it. "Uncle John could find him out there in a minute!"

"Your Uncle John could," Rose answered quickly.

Right. He had learned to save Harry and Ganbri from the Nightmare. In this world, Harry was dead, Ganbri had never been born, and the Nightmare's War never happened. It entirely possible—likely, even—that the man chasing them wouldn't be able to track them because he'd simply never learned how.

"It's the best we've got," Shaun spoke up. "Good luck, ladies."

She could still hear the thumping footsteps echoing from above them. Part of her was sure that she could even hear his ragged breathing drawing nearer, but he couldn't possibly be that close yet.

She jumped the last few steps and hit solid ground. She turned back to see the other two coming and reached out for her father, letting the blood on her hands smear across his jacket as he passed, letting him carry the scent with him. Then she dropped the severed finger on the ground, placed the wedding ring on her own finger, and ran.

Shaun dashed straight towards the writhing mass of screaming shadows and didn't look back. Part of Annie screamed at her to go with him, keep him safe. It suddenly occurred to her that this might be the last time she ever saw him—just the back of his head and her bloody handprint on his jacket disappearing into a crowd of monsters. At that moment, it didn't matter that he was a different man in a different universe.

While her eyes followed her father, her feet followed Rose. She ran until her muscles and lungs burned and she never quite convinced herself to look back to see if they were being followed. She told herself that he would have caught them by now. At the very least, he would have done something to slow them down or confuse them.

They rounded the corner of a building and Rose threw her hand up to signal a stop. They were far enough away that she could barely hear the shrieks of the shadow horde, but she still found herself looking over her shoulder and eying every corner and shadow for movement.

Rose was resting her hands on her thighs, gulping down air. "Do we back for Celeste?" she squeezed out between breaths.

"No," Annie answered quickly. "If she's alive, she's already out."

Celeste wasn't the type to wait for rescue. Or, at least, she wasn't back home. She supposed she didn't really know the Celeste that lived here or what she was like but, if she any different at all, she was more independent and aggressive. Annie quickly reassured herself that she wasn't wrong.

"I can't believe you did that!" Rose suddenly gasped. "I mean, I knew you were going to do _something_ but . . . please tell me that thing will work."

Annie let her fingers run over the cold metal around her finger and nodded. "It should work. Unless there's some other problem with the crown, this should be all I need to fix it."

"And if there's another problem?"

Annie shook her head. "Celeste is the expert. I'm sure she'll figure it out."

She saw a flicker of doubt cross Rose's face. Her mouth moved as if to speak and then she changed her mind. Annie knew what she was going to say. What if Celeste was dead? Annie didn't want to think it was possible, but there would be no point in denying reality, especially in such a dangerous place.

"Sandra might know something about it too," she added quietly. "I can work on it with her if I have to. Let's just worry about getting the ring back."

Rose nodded but the burdened look didn't leave her eyes. She'd caught her breath, but she made no move to carry on.

"I'm sorry I got you tangled into this mess," she said finally. "It's my fault. If I hadn't hidden in the TARDIS or . . . or come to you for help—"

"Stop," Annie interrupted. "It's not your fault. You didn't do any of this. Reality as we know it is at stake, and that includes my universe and my life. I'd rather be involved than not."

Rose smiled a little and gave a slight nod. She didn't look particularly convinced but Annie hoped it made her feel a little better. Guilt was a terrible thing to carry around at the best of times, and a dangerous thing at the worst.

The rest of the journey back to Torchwood was unsettlingly quiet. With the shadow horde occupied with their assault on the portals, the city finally felt as dead as it was.

Annie couldn't stop looking at all the discarded items on the ground. They weren't things that were dropped or forgotten, left behind in a rush to get to safety. They were in someone's hand, on someone's feet, over someone's body, and then suddenly they weren't. Shirts and hats and glasses all hit the ground, abandoned, and the heat from their owners' bodies had lasted longer than the bodies themselves.

She didn't understand how anyone, mad or not, could look at the city and believe that there was anything left to save.

Sandra was still alone when they arrived at Torchwood, anxiously pacing. The severity of her limp suggested that she had been pacing for a while. Annie let Rose do the explaining while she washed the blood from her hands. It had dried to a rusty brown and cracked and flaked off whenever she moved her fingers, yet somehow it still felt warm.

The sound of his scream kept repeating in her head while she washed, as loud and real as though he were right next to her. But it wasn't the pain she was hearing—she'd heard pain a thousand times before. What she heard was something new and unlike anything else she'd experienced.

She could hear that pure, undiluted rage.

It echoed in her head, cutting into her with each reverberation. That wasn't her Uncle John. That was just something else that had taken up residence inside him, and now her hands were coated with its blood. She scrubbed and scrubbed, feeling like she couldn't get clean, like it was infecting her somehow.

"Annabelle."

Her heart stopped for a second. Had she imagined it?

She felt the warm and familiar feeling of her father's hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. She dared to look and saw his dark fingers resting there, the way they had always appeared on every bad day she'd ever had. Without warning, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She quickly turned on her heel and flung her arms around him. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds and then his arms wrapped around her in return, hugging her tightly. She wanted to cry. Her father was at home with her mother, safe and probably unaware of anything that was happening, and yet he was here. And she was just so, so happy that he was alive.

She looked up to see Celeste standing near the edge of the tracks, with Dr. Kapoor already tearing the clothing away from her bleeding arm. She looked pale and weak, but her eye was fiery and determined.

"Tell me you still have the fucking thing."

Without letting go of her father, Annie proudly lifted her arm to display the ring she had stolen. As it shined and glittered in the dim light, Annie noticed that her hands were clean.


	30. Chapter 30: Wilfred

Wilfred had lived long enough to know that there were times to talk and times to shut up and listen, but when it's time to do something doesn't necessarily make it any easier to do. Jenny needed him to listen today and it was taking every ounce of willpower he had to keep quiet. She had to talk it out—to work her feelings out for herself and decide what to do. She was a smart woman and Wilf didn't doubt that she would make the right choice. Still, he desperately wanted to help nudge her in the right direction.

She was trying so hard to be strong and to be sensible. She didn't need an old man to tell her to do exactly what she was already doing. She _knew_ that the Harry who had put a gun to her back was a Harry that had never met her before, not the man who had been calling her his daughter for years. She knew that he was frightened and desperate. She knew that it wasn't likely he would have hurt her, despite his threats. The man who took her hostage was just a scared father trying to save his child.

She knew all of that. Part of her understood and already forgave him and part of her felt guilty for feeling so bothered by it. But the biggest part still felt scared and hurt. Logic wouldn't take that feeling away, no matter how much they wanted it to. The only thing that would heal that would be time, patience, and a bit of love.

She had stopped talking now. She looked a little upset and it seemed she had stopped to prevent herself from getting too worked up. She wouldn't want to make a scene in a pub. It was probably why she'd asked to meet in a public place to begin with—so that she wouldn't let herself get too emotional.

She was so much like her father.

Wilf stirred the spoon in his teacup slowly, carefully considering his words before he spoke. "Have you tried speaking to Harry about all this?"

She smiled a little. "I know what he'd say," she answered. "He shouldn't have done it. He didn't mean it. He'd never hurt me. He—" She cut herself off abruptly. Her eyebrows knitted together and, though she tried to hide it, he saw the glimmer of tears welling in her eyes.

"He loves you," he finished gently.

She smiled and hurriedly wiped the tear from her eye. "Yeah," she said quickly with a nod. "And then he'd say something about hoping that I can forgive him but that he'd understand if I didn't. He'd be so bloody nice about it."

Careful. Gently.

"Do you think that would be honest?"

She chuckled and quickly wiped her eye again, trying to do it in a casual way in the hopes that he wouldn't notice. "Of course! It's just . . ." She paused and stared down at her plate, searching for words.

Quiet now. She only needed someone to listen.

"He's such a great dad, you know?" she blurted out quickly. "He loves Ganbri _so_ much and we've always had this kind of special relationship, but . . . You know, at the end of the day, I'm _not_ actually his daughter. And what if-what if something mad were to happen and Ganbri were in trouble. Ganbri _is_ his son—his blood. If Ganbri was in danger and I . . ."

Her eyes fixed firmly on her plate and she bit down on her lip.

Wilf smiled and reached out for her hand, which she quickly gave him. "You're not _my_ blood either darling," he said, squeezing her hand. "Goodness sakes, the only ones who are are my Donna and little Annie. Do you really think that something as simple as blood makes me love your fathers any less? Love _you_ less?"

A tear spilled from her eye. She couldn't wipe it away in time so she simply turned her face and bit down on her lip harder. It broke his heart.

"Oh, no. Oh, my love." He quickly pulled her hand closer so that he could kiss it. "I won't have you thinking something like that. Not something so terrible, I won't, do you understand? Your parents call me Grandfather because that's who I am, blood be damned, and that makes you my great-granddaughter. No one can tell me otherwise, not even you."

She smiled a little, despite her sad eyes, and he knew he should stop talking there but he couldn't help himself now.

"And Harry—Harry calls you his daughter because you are just as much his little girl as Kahlia was, rest her soul. If you think he wouldn't fight just as hard to save you as he did to save Kahlia or Ganbri, you're mad. I'm sorry, love, but it's true. _Mad_. I'll have you keep in mind that we lost Kahlia because she forced your father into making a choice and he chose _me_ —a stupid old man who had no business even being there. So, you be angry and you be hurt. Feel how you feel and don't forgive him if you don't want to. But don't you dare doubt that _anyone_ loves you because of something as unimportant as your blood."

It was a little too much, he knew. She had clamped her mouth together and her eyes were squinting, trying to hold tears in. People who doubt that they're loved react just as strongly to the good news that they're wrong as they would to the bad news that they're right. He could have delivered it more gently. He should have gone lighter, gone slower. He should have given her time to absorb and react. But the thought of her believing something so horrible as that was more than he could bear, and not even a century's worth of life experience seemed to be enough to hold him back.

He reached out for her hand again and she quickly gave it with a tearful smile. He was trying to think of what to say to help distract her when her phone started ringing. She pulled her hand back quickly, looking just as thankful for the interruption as he was, and pulled her phone from her pocket.

Wilf turned his attention back to the table for a moment, sipping his tea and eating a chip or two in an attempt to mind his own business as she talked. However, it quickly became clear that the call was for more than just a chat. The tears in Jenny's eyes cleared up almost instantly and were replaced with a look of concern. Her eyebrows were knitting together and she as sitting up straighter.

"What do you mean? Where are they?"

He was trying not to eavesdrop but that caught his attention.

"Hold on." Jenny pulled her phone away from her face and quickly started tapping away at it, her face growing increasingly concerned.

"Everything alright, darling?"

"Um, I don't really know," she answered distractedly. "Sorry, one second." She tapped a few more times and then put the phone back to her ear, frowning hard. "I've got a tracking app on Ganbri's phone but it's not even . . . Well, what do you mean?" She paused as she listened, her eyes growing slightly wider. "Who all is missing!?" she almost yelled.

People in the pub were starting to look. Wilf started to get concerned that Jenny might say something she shouldn't in public so he quickly reached out his hand and touched her arm. Her eyes shot in his direction, full of distress, and then glanced around her.

"I'm on my way," she said quickly and then hung up the phone.

Wilf couldn't wait for an explanation. "Is everyone alright? What's happening?"

"I didn't get a lot of detail," Jenny answered quickly. "A lot of the team have gone missing." She paused, thinking for a moment, and glanced around her again before whispering quietly. "Declan Davies is dead."

Wilf felt a stone slide into his stomach. "Dead? Good heavens."

He didn't know Declan very well but the few times they had met had been very pleasant. He was a nice man. He was the first one to join Jack's new team. He'd babysat the children many times as they grew up to become Torchwood members themselves. He had a child of his own now. Wilf felt an ache in his chest for the family out there who had just lost someone so dear.

He snapped out of his thoughts and quickly got out of his chair, grabbing his coat and fumbling through his pocket for his wallet.

Jenny frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

"Paying the bill," he answered simply.

"No, no. I meant where are you going?"

He looked up at Jenny again and realized that the question wasn't really a question. His brows came together and he stood up straight. He met her eyes and dropped some money on the table with what he hoped looked like determination.

"You're not coming with me," Jenny said. "You can't."

"How do you intend to stop me?"

Jenny smiled a little despite herself. "It's confidential. It's _dangerous_."

"I just explained to you what this family means to me, and they are a part of it. If they need me, I am going to be there."

"Grandfather, I can't—"

"I'll ask you again, love—How do you intend to stop me?"

She smiled, shook her head, and started walking. Wilf hurried along after her, waving goodbye and calling a thank you to the man at the counter.

Jenny was fast, taking long strides. For a horrible moment, Wilfred thought that she might suddenly realize that she very easily stop him by simply walking to quickly, never mind jogging or running, but it seemed that she noticed he was struggling and slowed down a little. Age had made sure that his body couldn't keep up with the rest of him.

Jenny's flat was closer to the pub, so they walked there. The teleport was carefully concealed in a linen closet and it hummed to life once Jenny swiped her security card.

Wilfred waited until the door closed behind them before daring to ask, "Will you be okay?"

Jenny's face didn't move a muscle. "Of course," she answered without hesitation. "I have to be."

Jack was waiting for them when the door opened again to reveal Torchwood headquarters. He glanced at Wilfred with a slight look of surprise but said nothing. His eyes changed in a way that suggested he was even relieved.

And then he told them what had happened.

Some monster from another world had come to destroy them all. Declan was dead. Edmund had run away. Most of the team was missing. The team that was left behind wasn't coping well.

"The Doctor is scared," Jack explained grimly. "I tried to talk him out of it but he won't listen to me. He's gone to get the Beast."

Wilfred's eyes widened. "No," he whispered. "Not that monster. Not again."

Jack nodded. "Harry and Ganbri are gone. He's terrified." He paused for a moment, eyes wandering off to the distance as he took a deep breath. "You both saw what happened the last time he was this scared."

Jenny shrugged her shoulders. "But can it kill it?"

Wilf's eyes widened even further. "Jenny—"

"It's a valid question," Jenny interrupted quickly. "I don't like that thing any more than you do but if it can be used to save the _universe_ then why not? Sometimes we have to do things we don't like for the greater good. Can it kill the Bad Wolf or not?"

"We don't know," Jack answered quietly. "We know that it can live without a body for at least a little while. We don't know how to contain it outside of a body."

Jenny nodded and looked beyond Jack, down the empty halls. "Right. Where's Celeste?"

She was wearing her soldier's face.

"Lab 9. She's trying to get an imprint of the vortex scars they left."

"Time to get to work then." She smiled, though her eyes were hard, and headed off without another word.

Wilf looked at Jack for a long moment. His eyes were pained and distant and every muscle in his face sat limp with exhaustion.

"How are you, Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "Good as I can be, I suppose."

"Declan was your friend and your boy is missing. It's okay to tell the truth."

He had expected to see Jack's eyes grow a little softer—to show just a hint of vulnerability—and maybe he would open up. It was what Harry what have done. It was maybe even what the Doctor would have done. But Jack looked him in the eye, and everything about that look was cold.

"J.J. is coming back," Jack answered in a solid and unquestioning voice. "He's coming home."

Wilf smiled and tried to hide the concern from his eyes. "Of course he is, lad. Safe and sound soon enough, eh?"

"Will you talk to the Doctor? I need you to stop him from bringing that thing in here."

"Yeah. Absolutely. I will." Wilf cleared his throat, shifting his weight to his other foot. "But, um . . . well, you know he won't listen. It's like you said. He's scared. You know how he is."

Jack's eyes were still cold when he answered, "But I need you to try."

"Of course."

Jack gave another solemn nod and then turned away. Wilf stood and watched him walk down the hall for a long moment, wringing his hands and wondering if he should speak up. Jack was only stressed out, he told himself. So many things had gone wrong in such a short period of time—it only made sense that he wouldn't be quite himself.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more than that. Jack had been there when Harry was sick, when the Doctor was taken prisoner, when they fought against Kahlia and her army. He'd seen Jack under stress before and it didn't look like _that_. He didn't know what that look was.

One problem at a time.

The teleport opened to the garage of Harry and the Doctor's house. Wilf knew without checking that the house would be empty. What a terrible feeling.

Just a couple of feet away, the TARDIS was sitting in the corner she'd come to call home. The doors were closed and it didn't look like she'd moved but Wilf didn't doubt that she was unlocked. Sure enough, when he reached for the door, it opened without protest.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like inside. It had been so many years since he'd set foot in the old ship. So many years since he had left the familiarity of Earth and embraced the unknown. So many decades of his life were spent dreaming of the stars and all their mysteries and how quickly had he taken the privilege to explore them for granted? It was criminal, it was.

"Don't judge me too harshly," he muttered, affectionately patting his hand on the center console as he passed it. "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm not fool."

Despite the years that had passed, Wilfred still knew the way. The day he clutched that beautiful baby boy to his chest and followed the Doctor through these halls was one that he would never forget. He remembered every step, every breath, every movement from the tiny being in his arms. He remembered that the fear in the Doctor's eyes was only surpassed by the determination. He remembered the feeling of growing dread.

He remembered the sound.

And as soon as he remembered it, he could hear it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind like something creeping forward from the dark, he could hear the growling. That meant it could sense him now. That was how it hunted after all—by putting that terrible sound in your head and then following the fear. So long as you were afraid of it, there was no way to hide.

The growling grew louder as he got closer to the room and he tried his best not to let it shake him. When he finally reached the door, he found it open, and the Doctor was waiting for him.

He was standing beside the great monster, leaning his forehead against its cheek as though it were only a beloved pet. His hand ran along its black and carious snout as his eyes locked on to Wilfred's.

"Grandfather."

Wilf opened his arms as if for a hug. "My boy."

The Doctor's eyebrows moved together slightly. It was the look he'd hoped to see on Jack—that tiny flash of vulnerability. That tiny change in his eyes let Wilfred know that the Doctor wanted the hug. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted help. Then his face hardened as he reminded himself to be strong and he said what Wilfred had expected him to say next.

"You know that I wouldn't come here if I had any other choice."

Wilf nodded. "I know that you would only come here if you _thought_ that you didn't have another choice."

The Doctor scowled. "Tell me what else I can do then."

"Trust your team. Think it through. Come up with a plan."

The Doctor let a grim smile tug at his mouth and he shook his head. "You don't understand what we're up against."

"I don't think _you_ understand what the Bad Wolf is up against," Wilf answered quickly. "You're a force to be reckoned with, you are. _You_. You alone, without that Beast. And with Jack and Harry—"

"I don't have Harry," the Doctor interrupted sharply. "It took him. It took him away and he's gone."

Wilfred chuckled nervously. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the man you married. He'll find his way back to you, whatever it takes. You can believe in that."

The Doctor's eyes softened again and the snarling in Wilf's head got a little quieter.

"It took Ganbri."

The voice that came out sounded more like the frightened whisper of a child than the voice of a man. Wilf felt his own eyes immediately tear up at the sight of the Doctor's face changing and he instinctively started walking forward with his arms open.

"Oh, my dear boy. Oh, my goodness."

The Doctor didn't stop him when he pulled him into a tight hug. He was so tall that Wilf just wound up sort of resting his head against the Doctor's chest and squeezing his arms around his thin frame, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that the Doctor was frightened. He was scared for his husband and his child and the only way he knew to help himself feel better was to hide behind that great monster of an animal so that he didn't feel helpless. So Wilf squeezed him even tighter, because he might have felt helpless but he certainly wasn't going to feel alone.

He wished he knew what to say. He wished he could pull some beautiful and motivating speech out of his head, weaving words like a magical spell to somehow make things better. But, no matter how many times he opened his mouth, the words just wouldn't come.

"You have me," he managed to say after a moment. "No matter what, you have me. I'm not going anywhere."

It was probably the wrong thing to say. He probably should have said that they would get Harry and Ganbri back, that everything would be fine. He should have been telling him to put that great monster back to sleep and to come back to Torchwood without it. Surely he was saying the wrong thing and, worse, he wasn't saying the _right_ things, but this was all he knew to do now.

So he clung to the thin body, ignoring the way it stiffened up and trembled. He closed his eyes and strengthened his arms and listened to the thundering heartbeats in his ear and, even if they were the wrong ones, he repeated the same words over and over.

"I'm here, my boy. You have me. I'm here."


	31. Chapter 31: Ganbri

Everything changed when the sky ripped open. Ganbri looked up to see what looked like storm clouds spreading through the atmosphere, except that the clouds seemed to be screaming. He looked to the Time Lords beside him, searching their faces for clues on how he was supposed to react.

Their faces were all full of fear.

"Stay in formation!" the Master's voice echoed in his head, calling to them all. "Prepare for regeneration!"

Ganbri's eyes widened. "What?"

But no one heard him. There was too much movement, too much noise. The screaming shadows descended upon them and the Time Lords around him raised their massive shields. Ganbri raised his own, locking it with those beside him as he had been shown. He saw the shadows colliding with them, bouncing off, then whirling around to try again.

The soldier to Ganbri's left was shoved gracelessly aside and Kahlia took their place, locking her shield with his. "Listen to me!" she shouted over the shrill cries. "Your shield will hold those things back, but there are a lot of them and they're relentless. If one of them touches you –and I mean _touches_ you—you have shoot yourself."

He thought his eyes were already open all the way, yet they seemed to widen again. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he shouted back.

"Once you've been touched, it's got a hold of your soul. There is _no_ getting away," Kahlia answered simply. "Your _only_ chance is to regenerate. It'll take the remnants of your current self and it won't notice the new one."

"I can't do that! That's insane!"

Despite his strongest efforts, his mind raced backwards and it was just like he was standing there again. His chest felt like it as imploding—the pain just seemed to keep doubling itself, even though it felt like it couldn't get worse. He could feel the wet heat running down his chest, down his belly, soaking his shirt. Over all the noise of gunfire and people dying, he could somehow hear the sound of blood droplets hitting his boots.

And then he burned. His skin lit up like a golden sun and an unbearable heat washed over him. His skin peeled away and his flesh melted. His bones cracked and crumbled away to ash. He burned away and he died and someone else was standing in his blood splattered boots.

And it was Kahlia who did it.

Kahlia murdered him.

She murdered Berran and Wilson. She murdered Sevil. She murdered Mouse right in front of him. She even tried to murder Brody.

And with a sudden horror, he gazed at the woman standing beside him. A woman who had became famous for her cruelty and imagination for torture. A woman who was known to drive her victims to madness by convincing them of false realities. And here he was, standing on a planet that had burned with an army of people that were dead, fighting a war that had long since ended.

And she was telling him to kill himself.

Several people cried out and swore in confusion when Ganbri suddenly changed direction. Kahlia seemed to see his move coming though and had adjusted her shield just in time. Instead of knocking her over, they just slammed into each other, their shields lighting up and sparking from the impact.

"Ganbri, stop!" she shouted.

But he wouldn't listen. It was the only thing that made sense. He never made it off Kahlia's ship. Banni and Tokrah were probably dead. That horrible wound to J.J.'s head had probably killed him instantly. Ganbri remembered watching him get hit, watching flesh and bone separate, watching him fall as his face pulled away to reveal nothing but the bloody surface of his skull. He couldn't survive a wound like that. Everything after that moment must have been a cruel fantasy that she'd put in his head, to torture him until he came to this moment when she'd convince him to turn a gun on himself. Then he'd regenerate and she'd do it all again.

If there was anyone he loved still alive, she was probably making them watch. And he didn't care who it was, he wouldn't do that to them.

He slammed into her again, harder, causing her to tip off balance. He just kept hitting her and hitting her, watching as her legs started to give way beneath her shield, and then he began to slam downward, driving her into the ground. Her nose was bleeding now.

She kept shouting at him to stop and he remembered hearing Banni begging him too. He had used his shield to slam Banni against that wall so many times that his eyes were starting to fade, his limbs growing limp.

He could hear Brody shouting from his cell: _You're gonna kill him!_

His skin was lighting up with fire again. Maybe he was dying, he didn't know. People were grabbing at him from all angles. Some were trying to shove him with their shields. He even saw a couple that were trying to take the hits for Kahlia so that someone else could drag her out from beneath the blows.

And all he could think of was that moment that he let her go on Godforge, because she was his sister, and all the people that died after.

The air was full of that horrible high-pitched shrieking as the shadows converged on them, the angry and confused shouting of the soldiers all around him, and the sound of drums. The drums were louder now, louder than all the rest of it. It was almost louder than the sound of Kahlia's shield beginning to crack beneath the sheer force he was throwing against it.

Someone slammed into him from the side, hard enough to knock him a few feet from his prey. He rushed at her again, but the person who rammed him a moment before grabbed the top of shield and shoved it backwards, colliding it with Ganbri's face. He felt his teeth cut through his lip and the taste of blood instantly filled his mouth, then a fist hit him. Someone else was ripping his shield from his hands now, and the first person was shoving him down, trying to restrain him. Between their legs, he could see Kahlia on the ground, dazed but clearly alive.

Gunshots were going off somewhere nearby. Somehow, with each one, he felt stronger. The light in his skin roared to life and he surged with heat, the cut in his lip healing almost instantly. But he wasn't dying. Not this time.

He got his legs underneath him and lifted with all his might. Whoever had been trying to hold him down was lifted into the air, feebly clinging to his back and swearing loudly in shock. Time seemed to slow down and he looked up to see Jinnar's face staring at him with a mix of awe and fear, clutching the shield he'd stolen as though he were preparing to use it.

The person on his back was kicking furiously, trying to knock the back of his knees in, but Ganbri reached behind himself and grabbed hold of them.

It was then that he finally realized what the person on his back had been screaming, paying attention to the words for the first time. "Don't shoot!" they shouted frantically. "Do _not_ shoot!"

His eyes searched for the one the words were intended for and spotted Hannes standing on top of something that made him tall enough to look over the heads of everyone else. He held a massive rifle in his hands, pointed straight at Ganbri's chest, and his face was red and full of distress.

"That's an order! Stand down!"

It was the Master's voice booming in his ear. It was the Master's boots kicking at his legs and the Master's gloved fist punching against the back of his head. Tokrah would never do that to him and it only steeled his resolve that this was one of the nightmares his sister had become so famous for.

The Master finally found a sweet spot in the back of his knee and his leg gave in, dropping him to his knees. Jinnar rushed forward and shoved his full body weight against Ganbri's shoulders, pushing him down while the Master shoved at his hips to knock him over. It might have worked if one of those screeching shadows hadn't barreled towards them from the sky, like some terrible, dark meteor.

The Master screamed something that Ganbri didn't understand and Jinnar quickly got off of him again to stand up. He lifted the shield high and the shadow smashed into it, bouncing off but then quickly whipping back around.

"Shield wall!" The Master was shouting, prompting some of the other soldiers to lock their shields with Jinnar's, attempting to hold the shadow back as it attempted its assault again and again.

Some part of Ganbri's mind told him that the shadow should be afraid of him. He glowed so bright now that it almost hurt his own eyes—surely that should drive back something so dark? But the shadow seemed more determined than ever to reach him, slamming into the shield wall and racing around, trying to find a spot to break through.

He pushed upward again as forcefully as he could, thrusting his elbows and shoulders back, and finally succeeded in getting the Master off of his back. He felt the first blow to his leg so fast that he was certain that the Master hadn't even hit the ground yet. When he turned around to look, the Master was already swinging for his face, but he still hadn't drawn a weapon.

Then, suddenly, the Master's eyes shifted focus, looking behind him, widening and becoming distressed. He rushed forward and pushed Ganbri aside, his eyes locked on something else. When Ganbri's eyes followed him, he saw that the shadow had managed to get an arm between the shields it had been fighting, and its oily black fingers were wrapped around Jinnar's arm.

Jinnar was fighting to get away from it, twisting as though in pain, and it looked like a shadow was being pulled from him too. The Master rushed to him, and Ganbri suddenly realized that he was free to pursue Kahlia again. She was back on her feet, but her attention was focused on Jinnar too, moving in his direction.

Ganbri thought they might be trying to save him but, the moment he got to Jinnar's side, the Master pulled a long blade from his belt and drove it into his brother's chest. Jinnar screamed horribly and his body erupted with golden light. It looked like Jinnar's own shadow was ripped free from him and the monster clutched it greedily to itself before racing back to the stars.

Kahlia looked back just in time for Ganbri to see his dazzling gold light reflecting back at him in her eyes before he swung a fist at her face. She stepped back, causing him to hit her shoulder instead, but then scrambled for her shield again instead of a weapon. Why wasn't she attacking him?

The light surging from Jinnar's regenerating body shot straight towards Ganbri and he felt the same surge of power that he'd felt a moment before.

Hannes was aiming that rifle at him again. But it didn't matter. It wasn't real. It was just Kahlia in his head, trying to scare him away. He was coming for her and she was scared because she knew that this time— _this_ time—he wasn't going to let her escape.

She was trying to fight him back with the shield, slamming it against him the way he had done to her, but she lacked the strength that he had and the light coursing through him meant he barely felt it. And there was more light coming to him. There was just more and more and more.

Hannes shot. The rifle didn't make a sound but the impact nearly sent him sprawling and he heard the Master roar something in protest. He dug his heels into the ground and managed to stop himself. He looked down at his chest, saw the flesh torn open and bleeding, but then that golden light danced around it and it started to pull itself shut.

Kahlia's eyes widened and she started moving backwards, away from him, holding her shield high. "What the fuck is he!?"

Soldiers were grabbing onto him, trying to stop him, but they quickly let go as if his very flesh were burning their hands. A screaming shadow raced towards him. He saw Kahlia's eyes look up at it as it whipped past her head. She jumped forward, lifting her shield, but it was already past her and it reached Ganbri with its long fingers outstretched. Instead of pulling a shadow off of him, as the other one had done to Jinnar, it seemed to grab a hold of a piece of the light that surrounded him. It sped off holding onto the golden glow as gleefully as the one that took a piece of Jinnar's soul.

That moment made him hesitate—not because of the shadow, but because of Kahlia. The shadow was clearly not coming for her. She didn't even see it until it was almost passed. But, the moment she _did_ see it, she lunged forward to stop it from reaching Ganbri. And she still hadn't drawn a weapon on him.

"Ganbri!"

His eyes snapped up at the call of his name. J.J. was so small compared to the Time Lords that Ganbri hadn't even seen him approach until he was almost there. His ill-fitting armour was coming loose and already had blood spatter on it. His eyes were wide and frightened and they widened further when they fell upon the glowing sight that Ganbri had become.

"Ganbri, stop!" J.J. shouted at him. "What are you doing!?"

Another trick. Ganbri set his jaw, locked his eyes on Kahlia, and began to move forward again.

J.J. leapt in front of him before he'd even finished his first step. " _Stop_!" he screamed at him. "What the _fuck_!?"

It was a trick. A trick. A lie Kahlia was using to keep him away so that she could get to safety—so that she could kill someone else. J.J. was dead. He had to be. Ganbri had seen the way his head split open, the way he fell against the wall and slumped to the floor. He was dead. He had to be.

"It's not her!" J.J. was shouting. His whole body was tense and moving, prepared to dive or leap up at any second. "The Nightmare is _dead_ , Ganbri! That's not her!"

He would not fall for this. He would _not_ let her drive him mad. He focused on the drumbeat, trying to drown out J.J.'s voice, and charged forward.

J.J. swore, loudly, and leapt aside just in time to avoid being bowled over. "Listen to me, god dammit!"

And then he felt something cold. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked back in surprise. J.J.'s hand was gripping his arm, holding him back and pulling. He tried to yank his arm away, but J.J. held on tight and ordered him to stop once more. His hand was burning. Surely, his hand must be burning.

J.J. growled with frustration and leapt up, using Ganbri's arm like a shelf to pull himself upward. For a second, Ganbri thought that maybe those long, vicious fangs were coming for him and he closed his eyes. Instead, all he felt was J.J.'s finger against the bare spot of his chest, where Hannes's bullet had torn through his armour and left a gaping hole.

And then something happened.

Ganbri fell to his knees, suddenly feeling weak and nauseous. He wanted to throw up and he leaned forward, just in case he did. And then, just as suddenly, all the fear and uncertainty left him.

For just a moment, he couldn't hear any of it. There was no screaming, no shouting, no guns, not even a drumbeat. He looked up and saw J.J.'s golden eyes filled with confusion, like he wasn't really sure what he was doing. But even confused and scared and lost, J.J. was there to help him. The way he always was, no matter what. He was always his backup. Always.

The strange feeling was beginning to fade and Ganbri was slowly becoming aware of the battle again. Jinnar had just finished regenerating. He was stretching and trying to adapt to his body quickly while the Master kept him safe. The shrill screaming of the shadows grew louder with each second and, when he looked up, Ganbri saw them circling above him.

He realized that they were attracted to his light. _Starlight_ —that's what his parents had always called it. It made sense that, if they had come to hunt for Time Lord souls, the presence of pure time energy would be too much to pass up. Even now, it was flowing into him as Time Lords died and regenerated, and he could see the clouds of shadows following it to him.

They were descending now, screaming those terrible screams. Ganbri got to his feet, ready for them, when he felt a push against his side.

He looked down and saw J.J. trying to shove him behind him, trying to protect him. His eyes were focused on the approaching storm, face tense and brows locked together, searching for the best way to take it on and quickly realizing that he didn't know what to do.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hear Annie scolding him.She got angry with him a lot when they were kids because she always felt that Ganbri exposed J.J. to too much danger. He was always assuring her that J.J. was tough and knew how to handle himself, but she would insist that he was little and he needed someone to protect him too. Ganbri always thought she just worried too much but now, for the first time, he suddenly understood why she'd get so angry with him.

He stared at the vicious wound that wrapped around J.J.'s head. A little to the side and he would have lost his eye. A little deeper and he would have died. And now, with those howling things coming at them, Ganbri suddenly realized that J.J. was as good as dead the second he was touched by one. He wouldn't regenerate. He wouldn't come back. He'd just die.

He got hurt and he stayed hurt. He died and he stayed dead. Somehow, he had never understood that _that_ was what Annie had been trying to tell him throughout their entire lives. He needed someone to protect him too.

Without another thought, Ganbri grabbed hold of J.J.'s shoulder and yanked him close. He was so small—J.J. was always so strong that it was easy to forget how small he was. Ganbri was able to move his entire body with little effort and dragged the smaller man closer, wrapping his arms around him and crouching down.

He heard J.J. call out to him in confusion, asking what he was doing, but he didn't fight.

"Close your eyes!" Ganbri summoned up every ounce of energy inside him, forcing it up to his skin and into the air.

The heat was almost unbearable and the light hurt his eyes, even with them closed. J.J. huddled beneath his frame and didn't move a muscle, trusting and unquestioning as always.

Ganbri could feel the shadows ripping away at him, pulling off pieces of energy and making off with it. They were draining him and quickly. He could feel his muscles starting to weaken but he knew that there would be nothing to protect J.J. from them if he gave up.

Suddenly, another surge of energy hit him, only it felt different—stronger. He looked up and squinted through the light to see the Master with his arms outstretched in his direction, willingly giving up time energy to fuel him. Then another source appeared, and he turned his gaze to see Kahlia, following her father's lead. Then there was another and another, and soon he didn't know how many. He just knew that the energy was flowing through him seamlessly and the shadows swarmed above him alone, instead of the whole army.

Finally, he could feel the drain starting to slow. The shrieking of the shadows had quieted down, most having left satisfied. He could feel J.J.'s muscles starting to relax, and Ganbri felt a surge of pride at knowing that, even if it was only for a moment, he had taken away his fear.

The light was dying out now and he felt so very tired. Someone shouted that the area was clear and Ganbri finally opened his eyes and loosened his arms. Nista backed out of his grip, staring up at him with wide eyes. His mouth moved a little. No words came out, but Ganbri knew his friend's face well enough to know what he would have said.

A strong hand clapped him on the back and grabbed his shoulder, gently pulling him to his feet. "I don't know what that was," the Master's voice muttered quietly. "But did you have to wait until they got Jinnar to do it?"

Ganbri cracked a smile in spite of his exhaustion. Jinnar looked healthy, even if slightly disoriented, in his new body. Many of the Time Lords around him were staring—most with shock, but a few with fear.

The Master's hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. "You done with that shit you pulled earlier or am I changing our plans for today?"

"No, sir," Ganbri answered quickly. He looked over at Kahlia, trying to remember why he'd been so frightened, what had driven him to react that way. He tried to remember, but all he could think of was the warm feeling in his chest where a bullet had passed through and where J.J. had touched him. "I don't know what happened. I was . . . confused."

The Master released his tight grip and clapped him on the back again. "Good. Because it just got easy."

Ganbri turned to look at what the Master was referring to and saw the towering walls of the Academy. With an enormous groan and with slow, creaking movement that suggested they hadn't budged in decades, the gate was opening.

"Your little stunt just got us an invitation inside."

The army began to move and Ganbri willed his tired legs forward. Soldiers were glancing at him oddly as they passed, clearly unsure of what to think. Up ahead, he saw Hannes, with that massive rifle slung over his shoulder, looking back with a concerned look on his face as he hurried to Kahlia's side. They might not trust him anymore, Ganbri realized.

He felt a hand slip into his own and squeeze tight. "Thank you," J.J. said quietly. He looked down and saw that the look of shock hadn't quite left J.J.'s face, but he nodded his head as if reassuring himself of his words. "Thank you, Ganbri."

The Master's voice boomed through his thoughts, echoing throughout the entire army "Shields up! Do not drop your guard!"

Ganbri had often thought about going to the Academy growing up. His fathers had gone to school here. Every Time Lord and Lady that had ever mattered had come to this school, gazed into the Untempered Schism, and learned everything they needed to change the world. He dreamed of being just like them.

But now, as he stared up at the great stone gates slowly opening, it reminded him more of the jaws of a great Beast, opening wide to swallow them whole.

He could hear the other armies still fighting each other, screaming in fear and pain and mourning. The Academy didn't seem to pay them any mind. It didn't open its gates to them, to offer them help or shelter. It stood, like a sleeping giant, completely apathetic right up until Ganbri had showed it an unprecedented display of power.

That didn't seem like a good sign.

He squeezed J.J.'s hand, making sure that he didn't go anywhere. "Is this a mistake?" he whispered.

J.J.'s golden eyes inspected the building carefully. "It might be," he answered quietly. "But I'm not sure what else to do."

"You could hide somewhere," Ganbri suggested quickly. "Find somewhere safe until—"

"No," J.J. answered firmly. "Where ever you go, I'm going with you. I'm your backup, remember?"

Ganbri swallowed hard and looked up at the towering fortress again. "Right."

He held onto his friend's hand, pulled in any courage he had left, and followed the Master through the gate.


	32. Chapter 32: Kelevra

It was so cold. He hated being cold.

It took him a moment to recognize the senses he had available, to compute the information he was being given. He could see. He was looking up at a ceiling made of wooden planks and, just to his right, he could see a window. Snowflakes were falling against the black sky. Something crackled loudly and startled him. He could hear. But what was that noise?

He tried to move but nothing happened. His host's body laid as still and stiff as a corpse should be. He tried again, struggling to sit up, but the stupid thing wouldn't move. He could feel its skin, so he knew that he was connected, but everything felt too heavy and odd and something was wrong.

"You're okay."

The sound startled him even more than the one before it. He would have shouted but his host's mouth wouldn't obey him. Someone was in the room with him. Where were they? Who were they?

"Calm down. Deep breaths. You're not dying or anything."

He hadn't noticed that his body seemed to be hyperventilating. That helped explain some of the light-headedness he was experiencing. But why? What was happening? Where was he?

The voice in the room groaned with effort and he could hear movement. What were they doing? He couldn't move, couldn't defend himself. He couldn't even communicate. He started considering abandoning his host but the low temperatures might make it difficult to survive if he couldn't find another one fast enough.

"Look, would you just calm down?" the voice grumbled irritably. "I can hear you, okay? I'm here. You're fine. Do _not_ leave your body."

A face appeared above him, tired and disheveled looking.

"Hi."

He stared up at the face, willing it to make sense but it wasn't. He couldn't remember where he was or who the man was. He wasn't even sure what kind of host he was in.

The man's face fell a little, scowling as though horribly exhausted. "Oh, this again."

What? What was it? What was happening? His body had started to hyperventilate again and it was sending his mind into a panic. He still couldn't move.

"Sorry, it's just the middle of the night. We were up really late . . ." The man's voice trailed off and then an odd look crossed his face, almost like he was embarrassed. "I'm Harry. You're Kelevra. We're lost—stuck in a town called Salem. We've been here for twelve days. We're pretending to be human until we can get home. You are experiencing something called sleep paralysis, which is just a thing that happens to your host sometimes. You're not hurt or dying; your host body just doesn't know its awake yet. You'll be able to move soon. Better to sleep though. You'll remember things better after you sleep."

It was tempting. It was tempting to feel safe. Tempting to sleep. But a name and a string of supposed facts that anyone could have created were no guarantee. He didn't know that man and he didn't know how he came to be in that situation. For all he knew, he was restrained or his host had been drugged. If he couldn't move or speak . . . if he didn't have himself, then he had nothing.

The man sighed. His tired eyes looked burdened.

"Kel, I'm sorry but I can't do this right now. Good night."

The man reached out towards him and the sense of panic suddenly jumped higher. He wanted to move away, but his host would still not listen to him. The man's hand touched his forehead and a sudden wave of nausea overcame him. His pounding heart slowed down, his panicking mind grew calm. Somewhere, he felt a part of himself struggling, resisting the feeling, wanting to fight it.

Then he heard the voice, as real as though it were in the room with him.

 _It's okay, Bandit. You worry too much._

He did worry too much. Always worrying. Always running. Always hiding. Even when he was safe.

 _Just go to sleep. We'll figure it out tomorrow._

When he woke, there was a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the draft from the window. He was cocooned in his blankets again, wrapped tightly and barely able to move. He carefully wiggled free and managed to make his feet touch the floor.

Harry was still asleep and looked perfectly peaceful. He sat on the edge of his bed and watched the other man sleep for a while, trying to remember and pondering. Part of him wanted to believe that his memory of last night had only been a dream. Part of him wanted to grab his things, slip out the door, and never come back. He knew that, in the long run, attempting to hide as a human simply wouldn't work but there was no real need to be human. He could just as easily take a horse or a fox or even a bear and just live out his days quietly and alone.

The thought weighed heavily on him. It was less appealing than it used to be. Perhaps he was getting too old to start over again.

 _Again_. Harry had said 'this _again_ '. Last night hadn't been the first time then. Harry knew that his memory was failing. More than that, he had experienced it enough to not think much of it anymore. He said they had been there for twelve days . . . he hadn't spent that much time with another living person in decades. He wanted to shudder at the thought.

He'd completely lost control of this situation and it was beginning to worry him. He had no resources or allies. His memory was quickly growing worse. He had no way of getting home.

His breath hitched. Something hurt. Deep in his chest, something was squeezing and crushing him in a way that he had forgotten existed.

He had no way of getting home.

"Bandit?"

Harry's voice startled him and his body physically jerked with surprise. "Yes, Harry?" he answered quickly, blinking rapidly. He realized with absolute horror that his eyes had watered and quickly rubbed at them, trying to cover it up as sleepiness. He was so distracted with his attempts to hurriedly hide his mind that it took him a couple of seconds to realize what Harry had said.

His body froze and that crushing feeling in his chest changed to a more painful and sinister version of itself. His eyes turned to Harry, noticing how intently the Time Lord was watching him. If he knew where his gun was at that moment, he might have reached for it.

"Why did you call me that?"

Harry's eyes damn near glittered with excitement. "It's your name, isn't it?"

"No," he snapped. "Where did you hear it?"

He knew. He didn't need to ask because he already knew.

Harry hesitated for a second, looking like he was carefully considering his words. "I didn't look for it," he answered quietly. "When you're tired, or asleep, or . . . sometimes, like now, when—"

"Fuck you, Harold."

The words spat like venom from his mouth before he had time to think. He hadn't had time to go through his ritual yet. He was tired, unconnected, unfortified. He wasn't prepared to be the subject of interest to anyone yet today and, without his walls carefully put in place, his anger slipped out.

It wouldn't do. Harry had the control again. He was waiting now, silent. The tension in the air was growing thicker and Harry looked calm as ever, waiting for Kel to break beneath it and speak first.

Better to lose the battle than to lose the war.

Kel stood up from his bedside and sighed. "Apologies," he said as clearly and calmly as he could. "Though I hope you understand, Professor Mott, that a private thought, no matter how it's heard, is still private."

"Of course," Harry answered immediately. "Which is why I thought it would be appropriate to mention when it was just the two of us."

Kel moved to the end of his bed and began grabbing clothes to change into, trying not to make his movements too jerky and disjointed. He was still not properly connected. "I may be wrong, pet, but I believe it's considered polite to feign ignorance when you stumble across something not intended for you."

"Lie, you mean?"

He looked before he could stop himself. He met Harry's eyes and saw that mischievous glint in them and knew that he was being toyed with.

"I didn't think you would appreciate me keeping secrets from you, Doctor Presley. I never took you for someone who preferred ignorance."

The bastard. Where was his gun?

"We agreed that, for the safety of everyone, I would hide your gun from you at night, so that you don't shoot anyone when you wake up with memory loss. I know how—"

"Stop it!" Kel snapped loudly at him. "Stay out of my head, give me my bloody gun, and do not speak to me for the rest of the morning. Do you understand?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders in a conceding way and pointed wordlessly to a box sitting in the corner. Kel resisted the urge to shout at him some more. He pulled his boots on as quickly as he could manage without falling over, retrieved his gun, and left the room quickly.

Bridget was standing near the fire and the look on her face showed that she had clearly heard him shout.

"Good morning." Kel quickly bowed his head to her and tried to appear as normal as possible. "Do you need any of the livestock prepared for today, ma'am?"

She looked at him with concerned eyes, but said nothing more than the answer to his question. "A few chickens for lunch. I suppose you could put that old white she-goat out of her misery too and we can make some roast for supper. Everyone likes a good roast on a cold night."

"I'll get to work then."

He bowed his head to her again and walked off into the winter morning to go kill something.

He'd strung the animals up to drain their blood before he'd calmed down enough to attempt his usual morning routine. Still, it was hard. His mind was chaotic and fought against being restrained. His host was twitchy and less responsive than usual because he was so out of sync with it. Standing in the snow and surrounded by warm steam clouds from the piles of organs and pools of blood, he finally started coming back to himself.

He connected with each of his host's senses, slowly and one at a time. He settled his lungs and his beating heart and managed to relax the muscles in his face and arms and hands. Then, taking extra care today, he started to pull in the chaos of his mind. He caged the storm and slowly applied pressure, forcing it smaller and smaller until it was like a small ball of condensed, raw turbulence. Then he swallowed it down and forced it into hiding, pulling up thick, sturdy walls to hold it there.

He felt strong again. When he finally opened his eyes, he was Kelevra Presley once more.

"Feel better?"

Bridget was leaning against a tree, watching him. She was about twenty feet away, but that was more than near enough that he should have noticed her approach, especially in the crunching snow. How long had she been there?

"Yes, thank you," he answered simply. He gestured to the animals hanging from the trees around him. "Will this suffice?"

Bridget barely glanced up before nodding. "It'll do. You can bring them to the kitchen once they're done bleeding. Don't forget to pluck them first. I don't need feathers in the soup."

"Yes, ma'am."

She was looking at him the same way Harry did—piercing and curious. It didn't feel as unsettling coming from Bridget but it was still far from comfortable.

"They say a man who takes comfort in another's suffering has the Devil's touch in him."

"They didn't suffer," he answered quickly. "They just died."

She pondered that a moment. She glanced at the red snow, raised her eyebrows, and sighed. "I suppose even God enjoyed a blood sacrifice once in a while."

"And everyone likes a good roast on a cold night."

She smiled a little, clearly amused. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, ma'am."

"Course not. Talk's dangerous and a waste of time anyway." Bridget unfolded her arms and stood up straight. "I'm sure you've heard talk of a spirit out in the woods snatching people. Hathorne's been wasting plenty of people's time with that one. It's a good story if you find yourself in excess of time."

Kel tilted his head slightly, eying Bridget carefully. "Hathorne?"

She nodded. "Judge John Hathorne. You can find him at the pub on the other side of town at night—too good for my place, you see. Anyway, he'd know the story better than I would—everyone's going to him with their complaints. Careful what you say around him though. Now get to plucking."

Kel watched her trudge back through the snow and wondered how much Bridget heard through the walls at night. They always made a point of speaking quietly and her lack of questions had them assuming they were never heard. Now he was not so sure.

He was almost done plucking the first chicken when it suddenly occurred to him that he might forget what Bridget had told him. They had made good progress in gathering the ingredients they needed, but they still didn't have any leads on finding something or someone that had travelled through time. At least, he didn't think they had. He supposed he may have forgotten.

How frustrating.

Kel rubbed his hands in the snow in an attempt to get most of the blood off of them and then made his way back to the tavern. Harry was sweeping the floor around the tables, looking as energetic and comfortable as though he were in his own home. He didn't even look up when Kel opened the door.

"Harold, come help me pluck some chickens, please."

Harry looked up at him and grinned impishly. "I thought you weren't speaking to me?"

"I said _you_ were not to speak to _me_. Now come pluck some chickens."

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking for a moment as though he might argue, but thought better of it. He leaned the broom against a table, called out that he was going outside in the direction of the kitchen, and followed Kel into the cold air.

He whistled when he saw Kel's work hanging by their feet from the trees. "Didn't think I pissed you off _that_ much."

"We may have a problem," Kel responded, deciding to ignore the comment. "Bridget gave me some information that may be helpful."

"That doesn't sound like a problem."

"She presented it as though she _knew_ it would be helpful."

"Oh," Harry pulled a chicken down from a tree and frowned slightly. "What did she say?"

"There's a man named John Hathorne who has information on a spirit taking people from the woods. She said it was a waste of time, but then told me how to find him."

"Why find a man if he's only going to waste your time?"

Kel nodded. "I think she's been listening to us. I think she knows something's wrong—maybe even that we're not human."

"She would have kicked us out. She would have reported us at least." Harry turned to look back at the tavern with a scowl on his face.

"Perhaps she's pretending not to know while she prepares her reaction?"

Harry's eyes quickly whipped back around at him and he raised his hand, dead chicken and all, to point a finger directly in Kel's face. "You are _not_ killing Bridget!" he hissed.

Kel quickly shoved Harry's hand away. "Of course not!"

"But she gave you information," Harry continued without missing a beat. "She knows and yet she's helping us?"

"The man is a judge. It could be a trap."

"Could get us caught."

"Could get us _killed_ ," Kel corrected sharply.

Harry frowned. "I'd regenerate and you're already dead."

"My _host_ is dead; there's a difference!" Kel hissed back, trying to keep his voice down to a whisper. "They _hang_ people here. What do you think will happen to me if a rope snaps around me with the full weight of my host body behind it?"

"How tough is your exoskeleton?"

"Not that tough."

"Can you move away from the neck without losing control?"

"How about we just avoid the circumstances in which I'm hanged?"

Harry's eyes turned back to the tavern. His dark eyes scanned the building and the surrounding area, his jaw shifting around and grinding his teeth as he thought.

"I've been in worse situations," he said slowly. "You have a gun. I'll find a couple of knives to keep with me. We speak to the judge and see if we can get the story. If it turns out to be a trap, we fight our way out. If things start to go south, you either shoot me in the chest or let them kill me. All you have to do is protect me for a few seconds while I regenerate, then drop your host and play dead until I'm done dealing with them."

Kel stared at Harry for a long moment, absorbing the instructions carefully. "That will work?"

Harry nodded confidently. "That will work. Once I have a new body, nothing these people have would be able to kill me."

"Having a Time Lord as a host would be so much more useful than a human."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But you're not going to wear me any time soon."

Kel resisted the instinct to respond that there were other Time Lords. If his memory really was failing so badly now, it wouldn't do to make Harry angry with him. He didn't need to add any more risk to the situation. And besides—

"Did you stop yourself from threatening my child because you need me as an ally or because even you have a line you won't cross?"

Kel willed his host not to react. Don't flinch. Don't widen the eyes. Nothing. Only display calm and poise.

He sighed and made eye contact, attempting to convey a slight air of disappointment. "I wish you would give up these attempts to fight, Harold. There's nothing to be achieved by it."

"Are you denying that you thought it?"

Kel didn't understand it. What was the point?

He reached up to the tree and pulled a chicken down for plucking. "I asked you not to read my thoughts," he said calmly.

"I didn't."

There was a hint of glee in Harry's voice when he answered—a certain pleasure that he apparently couldn't keep to himself—and Kel suddenly caught on to the game.

"You're experimenting on me."

Harry allowed his face to break into a grin. "It's actually called getting to know you," he answered with amusement. "For most people, that means having a conversation and talking about themselves. For you . . . for you, it takes a different approach."

Kel narrowed his eyes, watching Harry's face carefully. He looked proud and sure of himself. There was a slight pull at the corner of his mouth, hinting at a smile, and Kel could sense the calm and satisfied rhythm to his brain waves.

"That's a lie," he stated simply.

Harry quickly looked up, that hint of a smile gone. "Excuse me?"

Kel started pulling out feathers slowly. "You're not getting to know me. You're studying me. You don't try to have conversations with me. You ask me questions, whether I want them or not, and observe my response. You intentionally try to make me uncomfortable to see how I react. You're trying to learn how to predict me. You're a scientist, and you've made me your test subject." He looked up from the chicken in his hands and met Harry's eyes. "I know because I did the same thing to you. I do the same thing to everyone."

Harry met his stare unflinchingly. There was a flicker of something Kel couldn't recognize and a general sense of unease for a moment, but Harry didn't look away. His jaw shifted, his eyes grew softer, and Kel could tell he was thinking hard about what to say next.

His eyes turned back down to the dead creature in his dead hands, and he couldn't help but mutter, "Besides, I told you once that I would like us to be friends. All you had to do was say yes."

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't understand you at all," he said quietly. "I didn't . . . Tell me why you chose not to mention my son."

He said it gently. It was a request and not one of his prodding interviews. Kel wanted to say something witty and aggravating. Part of him wanted to stay silent and let Harry wonder.

But it was the first time he felt like Harry was asking him a genuine question.

"Because I like Ganbri," he answered simply, quickly turning his attention back to the chicken and grabbing a handful of feathers. "He has something in him that is too rare in life. Douglas has the same rarity, and Bridget too. I admire them for it." He paused for a second, thinking. Harry stayed silent instead of pushing him to say more, and so he decided to just say it. "And once, when I was young, I had a friend who had that in them. They were the first person that I ever truly looked up to." Another breath and he envisioned those stone walls around him, protecting him. "And she called me Bandit."

The silence hung heavy and it felt to Kel like it would start to crush him if he didn't focus his attention somewhere else. He breathed in the smell of blood freezing in the snow and remembered going through his ritual just a short time ago. He'd felt it all then—he'd let it come out and rage and bite at him—and then he locked it away tight. He'd already allowed it to have its time for today, and he would permit it no more. He felt his walls strengthening and the noise behind them growing quiet, until Harry broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

And somehow, those two simple words felt like a battering ram. So small and yet they acknowledged everything that had happened. Harry couldn't possibly know the full story, let alone the details, but those two words said that he knew enough.

"Thank you for telling me that."

Kel grabbed a fistful of feathers and pulled them out, letting them drop to the red snow. "Whatever it takes to make you stop talking, pet."

"Right." Harry set aside his chicken and reached for another one. "So we check out Hathorne tonight?"

Kel nodded in agreement. "See if there's anything suspicious. Approach if it feels safe."

Harry mostly left him alone for the rest of the day. Bridget gave him an easy day too. He couldn't decide if it was because there just wasn't that much to do, because she knew that he'd been upset in the morning, or because Harry asked her to. He really hoped that it was the first one.

He passed most of the afternoon sitting by the small fireplace in their room, thinking. He was trying to figure out how much he'd forgotten since arriving in Salem, but searching for lost memories was almost impossible alone. How was he supposed to find something that wasn't there?

He tried to remember the rest of his team and he felt confident that he could remember them all, but their faces were starting to fade. He struggled to remember Ganbri's new face and kept picturing the old one instead. He couldn't remember what colour Kevin's eyes were, but he knew that they spent enough time together in close quarters that it was something he should definitely know. And Declan . . . Declan's face had somehow become a dark blur. Every time he tried to picture him, it was like he moved further away.

He was holding one of his Mneme stones in his hand when Harry came in to dress for their evening out. He saw the way Harry noticed it immediately, keeping an eye on it as he bustled around the room, yet he never said a word. So far, he'd only been using them just before bed, and it seemed that Harry had assumed they were a part just a part of him disconnecting from his host at night. Surely, seeing Kel holding one now would have him doubting that thought, wondering what he was really doing. He could sense his brain activity, lighting up and buzzing. Kel smirked a little at the thought that it was driving him so mad.

Finally, it seemed that Harry couldn't hold his silence any longer. "We're still going out tonight, yeah?"

Kel nodded innocently. "Yes."

"Okay." Awkward pause. He was thinking about it. Kel could almost feel his eyes on the little black stone in his hand but he never did ask. Instead, Harry busied himself about the room, cleaning off the day's work and making himself presentable. When he was finished, he sat down on his bed and waited quietly.

Kel had his back to the bed so he couldn't see what Harry was doing but he could sense his mind working away. After several minutes of silence, he heard the lid opening on the container of salve he'd made for Harry's fracture and the gentle sounds of Harry applying it to his neck. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realized that Harry might be sitting so quietly because he was waiting, avoiding an interruption.

He shifted on the spot so that he could look behind him. Sure enough, Harry was just sitting there, inspecting his fingernails for dirt. Kel slipped the Mneme stone back in his pocket and began to get to his feet, earning Harry's attention.

"Shall we go?"

Harry got up from his bed quickly and nodded. "Got your gun?"

"Always."

"Then let's see if we can do this without anyone getting killed."

They set off together. The sun set early that time of year, so they walked in the dark, following the lamps that made each building glow. It was a bit of a trek in the snow but Kel had bundled up well and Harry didn't seem to mind the cold, so they were still in good spirits when they arrived at the pub.

Kel immediately moved towards the fire while Harry's eyes set straight to work at picking apart the room. He made his way slowly across, appearing at Kel's side almost a full minute later and holding his hands towards the flame.

"Found him," he said quietly. "Sitting at the bar. He's drinking. That's a good sign, I suppose."

A good sign, yes, but not fully convincing. Some men drank to gather their courage. Some men denied that it affected their ability to think or perform. And some men drank when they were so confident in their situation that they knew it didn't matter if they were sober or not.

He knew that Harry was already feeling out the room but he felt the need to do it himself. It wouldn't do to whip his head about, eying everyone down, but he could focus on the electrical activity in the air, feeling for any signs of distress or excitement. A host with telepathic ability would be _so_ useful.

"I think we're okay," Harry said hesitantly.

Kel glanced at him and noticed a thin trickle of blood starting to slip down from his nose and gave him a nudge. "You really have to stop doing that so much," he said quietly. "That salve might help ease your pain, but that doesn't mean that you're not still healing."

Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose, shrugging his shoulders. "I've been through far worse than a fracture, Presley. I think I'll live."

Harry started moving away from the fire, weaving between tables, and Kel followed after him. He wasn't entirely sure what their plan was and for one, slightly horrifying moment he thought that Harry intended to march straight up to their target. Instead, he sat down at the bar, a good distance away from Hathorne, and ordered them drinks.

Kel sat down next to Harry wordlessly and waited for a beer to be placed in front of him. He stared at it, pondering, while Harry quickly picked his up with a word of thanks and took a sip.

"Is this a good idea?" Kel asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry answered simply.

"But what are we going to do?"

"We're going to drink."

Kel found himself quickly feeling annoyed by the short answers and crossed his arms. "I enjoy a drink as well as the next person, pet, but what if he leaves?"

"He won't."

"And how can you possibly know that?"

"Because I'm fucking telepathic, Kelevra," Harry answered quickly, turning his head to look Kel in the eye with the kind of look that said he didn't care to questioned further. "Now drink."

Kel scowled and picked up his glass. "You're rude," he muttered before taking a sip.

"That's fine."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Harry was good at blending in with everyone else—leaning against the bar with his glass in his hand, looking tired but content. Kel felt like he must have stood out—sitting too straight and looking annoyed and sipping his drink because he'd been told to and not because he wanted it. None of it felt right.

"Talk," Harry said after a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"Talk about something. Normal people talk when they have a drink together."

"Right." Kel cleared his throat, trying to think of something to chat about, and quickly found that his mind was like a giant blank slate. He was trying to think of a way to tell Harry without sounding like an idiot when Harry spoke first.

"You said you wanted to be friends, right? So tell me something about yourself—something outside of work."

Kel shifted in his seat and suddenly understood the wisdom behind the beer. He took a quick sip and said the first thing that came to mind.

"I have fish."

Harry's face made several changes in a very short amount of time, too quickly for Kel to keep track, but it ended with an odd looking grin. "Okay," he said, sounding somewhat amused. "You have fish. That's good. What kind of fish?"

"Tiger oscars," Kel cleared his throat and took another quick sip. "There are three of them. I've had them for a few years now, so they're quite big. I will admit to being concerned for them, with me being away for so long."

Harry still had that odd smile on his face, but it seemed genuine. "No one is feeding them?"

"I put a fourteen-day feeder in their tank, and they have some feeder fish living with them too, but those are probably gone by now. Normally, I would think that Douglas would take care of them for me but, obviously, that's not possible now."

He hadn't thought too much about them since being tossed through the Void. He hoped they would still be alive when he returned.

"I'll be able to direct us through the time stream. Most likely, we'll come out on the same day we left, maybe a day or two later. Your fish should be fine."

He smiled. "That would be nice."

Kel noticed that Harry wasn't really making eye contact with him, keeping his head mostly faced forward. "Drink," he ordered quietly. Kel obeyed and took a couple of gulps, watching curiously as Harry started playing with his wedding ring. "What are their names?"

"Nyx, Vox, and Echo."

"Interesting choices."

Kel shrugged. "Coming from a man who called himself the Master."

"Fair enough," Harry raised his glass as though to toast the conversation. "Drink."

Kel finished his drink and put his empty glass down on the counter. Harry waved the bar man back over to fetch them new ones and paused to wipe a spot of blood from his nose again.

"Why are you still bleeding?"

"Sometimes it takes a while to stop," Harry answered dismissively. New glasses were placed in front of them and Harry picked up his own and looked at Kel expectantly. "So why those names?" Harry asked after Kel had obediently taken a drink.

"Vox is bossy. He pushes the other two around. Echo tries to copy him, but he lacks the strength to be dominant."

Harry raised his glass again. He hadn't even bothered to put it down this time. "Drink. Big one now."

Kel frowned at him but picked up his glass anyway. He took a decent sized gulp and then another when Harry raised his eyebrows at him as though he were unimpressed. Kel put his glass back down and noticed it was already half empty. He was just about to ask if it was customary to drink so quickly when Harry spoke first.

"So why Nyx then?"

Kel thought of his aquarium sitting in his little flat and pictured Nyx swimming around, elegant and patient. She was almost completely black, without all the orange markings that the boys had, and she'd wait patiently at feeding time rather than pushing up near the top.

Kel smiled. "It suited her."

"It's a fish."

" _She's_ a fish," Kel shot back. "Honestly, Harold." He was slightly surprised at how quickly he found that to be offensive but Harry just grinned at him as though he were pleased.

"I would have just named them Tiger, Oscar, and . . . I don't know. Probably Fish."

"How dreadfully unimaginative."

Harry motioned for him to drink again, so he did. "Hang on, though. This is the good part. Fish would be spelled G-H-O-T-I."

Kel held his glass up to his lips, staring at Harry over the top of it. He took a long drink to give him a moment to think, trying to find the joke. Was this one Doug had told him before? It was a joke, right?

He swallowed and put the glass down. "I don't understand."

"G-H as in 'laugh', O as in 'women', and T-I as in 'motion'."

Kel narrowed his eyes. "That's absurd."

Harry chuckled and his eyes glittered with amusement. "The English language is absurd. That's the point," he said happily. "Drink."

Kel knocked back the last of his drink and set the empty glass down on the countertop. "Why not C-E as in 'ocean'?"

"You could do that too."

"E as in wanted."

"You see?"

"Name _all three_ of them Fish. F-I-S-H, G-H-O-T-I, and P-H-E-C-E."

Harry actually laughed then. "Now you're getting it."

"I can't decide if it's clever or cruel."

"It is what you want it to be, Kel. They're fish. Fish don't care what you name them."

"Yes, but a name is supposed to have meaning."

"You named yourself Kelevra," Harry responded quickly. "It means 'bad dog'!"

Kel couldn't help grin at that. Harry's voice sounded exasperated but his face expressed amusement. Apparently, he thought Kel's decisions regarding names were funny.

"Technically, I didn't give myself that name," he answered, raising a finger in protest. "It's what people were calling me."

"And you accepted it as your own. So the meaning behind a name isn't important after all."

The bartender placed another pair of glasses in front of them but Kel didn't pay any attention. He was staring at Harry incredulously.

"So you're telling me that the fact that you chose the name Harold, meaning 'one with power over armies', and Saxon, meaning 'swordsman', was a complete coincidence?"

"My name is Mott, thank you," Harry answered quickly. "Drink."

"It is _now_ and only because the name means something to you," Kel answered just as quick. "And I've had too much already. We're meant to be working."

"You've only had one. Drink and I'll tell you the plan."

Kel raised an eyebrow, slightly suspicious. He tried to remember if he truly had only had one drink but the memory was faded already. All he knew for sure was that he'd been drinking when Harry told him to.

He picked up the glass and took a quick sip. When he lowered it, Harry gave him that raised eyebrow and unimpressed look that suggested it wasn't good enough, so he took a large gulp instead. This time, when he lowered the glass, Harry looked pleased.

"So I'll tell you what I know," Harry said, leaning closer so that he could speak quietly. "Our target over there has barely taken his eyes off of you since we got here."

Kel stole a glance in the direction of John Hathorne and saw that, indeed, the man was looking in his direction. "You think he's suspicious? That it may be a trap after all?"

"Oh, no," Harry answered with another grin. "No, no. That man is gay." Harry cleared his throat and grinned a little wider. " _Really_ gay. And imaginative."

Kel found himself scowling. "You've been using your telepathy all this time."

"For the mission," Harry answered quickly. But that sly grin remained on his face and he cleared his throat as though to suppress a chuckle. "It was important that I figure out what he likes. For the mission."

"And I suppose being away from your spouse for two weeks had nothing to do with it."

"Nothing at all." Harry lifted his glass and Kel followed suit, taking a generous gulp without argument this time. "So you're gonna have to talk to him."

"Why me?"

"He likes your eyes. And he's heard that you're smart. He likes smart."

"You can be smart."

"No, I'm married," Harry answered with a shake of his head. "He's already seen the ring."

"Most gay men in this time period were married. _He's_ probably married."

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that _I'm_ married. Besides, he likes _you_ so _you_ have to go talk to him."

Kel picked up his glass again, thinking that another mouthful might help dull down the feeling of horrified panic that seemed to be spreading through him. He then realized that that had been Harry's plan from the start and quickly put the glass back down with a scowl.

"I can't do this," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"Why not?"

"I'm not interested in men."

"Pretend he's a woman."

"I'm not interested in women either."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he blinked slowly, as though he were registering that information. "Pretend he's absolutely anyone you want then. Hell, pretend he's me if that's what it takes."

Kel cleared his throat, frowning. "Harold, I am not interested in anyone. Period."

"Pretend he's a fern?"

"That is not funny," Kel hissed angrily. "This is not a joke to me."

"Okay! I'm sorry." Harry didn't sound particularly sincere in his apology, but his voice sounded serious enough when he spoke next. "What you need to remember is that that man over there has information that might get us home. Maybe we'll be lucky and all you have to do is go over there, smile real pretty, and have a conversation. If we're less lucky, you have to go home with him, smile real pretty, and play some naked Twister. I don't know what he's going to want from you but the point is that it might get us home. Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life killing chickens and making medicine out of roots and leaves in a world without electricity or plumbing because you were scared that a man's dangly bits might touch you?"

"You've been spending too much time with the Captain." Kel scowled at Harry hard, reached for his glass, wordlessly drained what was left inside it, and thumped it back down on the counter. "I am not having sex with him."

"Of course not. It would be your host," Harry answered cheerfully, raising his glass again as though to toast him. "Cheers, mate."

Kel slid off of his stool, locked eyes with the man across the bar, and forced himself to smile. Hathorne smiled back and gave him a quick nod that suggested an invitation.

"Think of your fish," Harry muttered quietly.

Kel resisted the urge to strike him and just started walking. Hathorne sat up straight as he approached, smiling wider and quickly gesturing to the bar man for another drink.

"You must be Doctor Presley," Hathorne stated before Kel even had a chance to sit. "I've heard a lot about you. You've made quite an impression on the town."

Kel smiled as warmly as he knew how. "A good impression, I hope?"

"Of course," Hathorne answered. "I didn't understand the nickname at first, but I see it now."

Kel tilted his head slightly. "Nickname?"

Hathorne nodded, and pushed the newly delivered beer in his direction. "They call you the Smiling Man."


	33. Chapter 33: Edmund

This one would help. He knew that this one would help.

It was all so terribly confusing and uncomfortable and frightening. There was a voice in his head, screaming, crying, shouting at him. She was scared or hurt or both. He couldn't tell. Was he doing that to her?

"Edmund, what are you doing? What's happened?"

There was a lot of noise and a lot of light and a lot of sensations in his skin. _Her_ skin. This wasn't his. He'd moved into a natural organic form with a living consciousness inside of it and it didn't seem to like him very much. He was quickly realizing how little he really knew when he built his body and that the imitation had been worse than he's thought. No wonder people always looked at him so strangely.

Something inside him seemed to jump and the woman's entire body seemed to roll forward. She was screaming at him. Screaming, screaming, screaming. And something foul came forth from her body's mouth, making a terrible smell and leaving a terrible taste on her tongue.

"Jesus, fuck!" Doug shouted. He'd barely moved out of the way of the foul production in time.

"Help," Edmund managed to say before the body lurched again. This time something else came out—thick and red—and the body began to hurt all over. Still she was screaming.

"Kevin, fucking do something!"

"I don't know what to do!" Kevin shouted back. "Edmund, get out of her!"

"Is she fucking dying!?"

Now there was something warm and wet on her face and Edmund raised her hands to feel it. When he pulled her hands away, the fingers were slick with the same red fluid that had come from her mouth a moment ago.

He remembered this. This was not a good thing to come out of their bodies. They died without it. He'd seen it happen to Ganbri during his first moments in the body he built and it took him far too long to realize that seeing red come out of their bodies anywhere meant there was some sort of damage. He'd seen it coming from Harry too and it had been a real struggle to save his life once the redness had appeared. They called it blood, if he remembered right.

The woman was breaking, he could feel it. He could feel the pain ripping through her and the odd coldness that followed it. He felt the internal workings of her body shutting down, one piece after another, and the screaming began to get quieter.

She was dying, he realized. He was killing her.

He couldn't just move to another body like this one. They were too small. They couldn't hold him. But, if he didn't stay small, he had no hope of communicating. He moved her eyes rapidly around the room, searching for anything that might work and he found a life. Its body was big but not too complex and it's consciousness was gentle. It was just like Kelevra's children.

"Help," he muttered quickly. "Edmund help."

He didn't want them to worry. The redness always frightened them but he could save her. She would be hurting and it would take some time to do the repairs but, as long as she wasn't taken away too, he could fix her. Poor Harry. Harry must be hurting now. He wasn't fixed yet.

The woman had gone quiet now but she was still alive. Edmund slowly began to pull himself from her body, carefully putting things back together as he went. It was hard to do—he wasn't sure of the function of all the different parts. He didn't want to try to fix something he hadn't broken and he didn't want to put anything back together wrong, but the body would know. He could fix what parts he knew and make sure it was enough to keep her alive and then, as the body started to heal itself, he could follow its instructions and assist.

Doug had grabbed something soft and pushed it against her face, trying to catch the redness. It was still coming but Edmund was trying to slow it down now. He supposed they didn't want the floor to get any messier than it was but Edmund didn't really see the point by now. The floor looked terrible and the smell was worse.

"I am here," Edmund assured them as he carefully began to let go of the body. "I am Edmund. I am here."

Then he let go.

The woman's body collapsed, asleep. Doug made a terrible sound of fear and caught her. Kevin started shouting at him to do things and there was a lot of movement. They were scared. They were trying to fix her too. Edmund hadn't meant to break her but he had always been good at fixing things.

The body he found was good and healthy. He entered it as gently as he could, making sure that he didn't break it on the way in. The body clung to the walls of the room and spread out into the cavern beyond, growing through windows and on ceilings, stretching on for miles and miles. The thing living in there was old and kind and seemed happy for some company and Edmund decided immediately that they would be friends.

Edmund continued to work on fixing the woman's body as he settled in. If he watched closely enough and was patient, he could observe how her body began its healing process. Energy and oxygen were funneled to the damaged areas, preparing to build new cells. Once he saw what cells to build, he began to help by building his own.

Doug and Kevin were still trying to help. Edmund wasn't really sure what they were doing but the body's oxygen intake increased and some of the areas that were sending pain signals began to quiet down. Edmund decided to wait quietly until they had finished, taking the time to try to find himself again. He reached out to the many, many lives that filled the caves and began to come back to himself.

Now he understood why none of the others ever tried this organic matter business. As interesting as it was, it felt dreadful once the exposure began to have an affect. The poor things couldn't help it, no more than they could help the carbon dioxide they released into the air or the heat that they emitted from their bodies. He couldn't blame them. He knew what he was getting into when he came here.

All the warnings . . . the others had tried so hard to stop him. It was dangerous. It was pointless. It had never been done before. Plenty of things had never been done before, and there were plenty of times that he'd already proved that wasn't enough to stop him. Now, here he was. The first of his kind to artificially build an organic vessel. The first to have his essence perceived on a conscious level by organics. He was probably the first to ever mourn one of their passing too.

That deep, horrible feeling filled him up again. He remembered the fear in Declan's eyes and the way he moved so violently and it made that horrible feeling spread. Through all the stems, through every leaf, through every vein—the whole body would shiver if it could. His new friend felt it and reacted. Edmund didn't really understand the reaction but he thought it felt something like sympathy.

Perhaps it was time to take a break for a while? Declan was already dead. What could he really do to help? All he seemed to be able to do was replay that moment over and over again—the violence, the confusion, the fear. The way Declan's body dropped like a broken toy seemed to be all he could think about. He'd left himself exposed for too long. It was spreading and taking over. He should go home and recover, come back once he was back to himself.

But he was _so_ close.

He didn't know exactly what had happened. He hadn't expected the lives of organics to be so complicated or dramatic. He thought he would just sit, wait, and learn until his moment came. And it _was_ coming. He could feel it. Stirring in the air, spreading through the organics like a disease, just like their carbon dioxide inevitably spread through a room. The presence was there and it was growing stronger every day. It was what he'd come for and he knew that it would come forward at any moment.

His friend.

Perhaps he was missing it, even now. He'd fled his vessel, traveled through the void, and come to find Douglas to help him. The exposure had left him feeling frightened and with an uncontrollable urge to seek comfort from one that he knew. He knew Doug, and Doug knew him. But he shouldn't be here. He should be back in Torchwood, with the Doctor, waiting.

No, he quickly decided. After all the time he had waited, a moment away would surely be safe.

He couldn't go home. He could handle the exposure. It wouldn't hurt him. It wouldn't change him. The same could not be said for his friend. He _had_ to be there for his friend. He would take this moment away to reach out to Doug, to come back to himself, and then he could return and go right back to work. It would be fine. That nagging doubt was just another side effect of the exposure, he was certain of it, so he pushed it away and began to reach out.

Kevin and Doug had lifted the woman up onto the bed and were still tending to her. They were still frightened, but Edmund was fixing her body even now. She would wake up. She would survive. Doug's shoulders began to relax as that thought seeped into him. He removed his hands from her body, his breathing slowed, and he took a step back.

Kevin still seemed frightened. "Doug, what are you doing?"

"She's gonna be okay," Doug answered quietly.

"We don't know that yet."

"No. No, she'll be okay."

Kevin had stopped and was frowning. He was confused and concerned. Edmund felt it trying to seep into himself, but he held firmly onto Doug instead.

"Kevin," Doug whispered. "He's in the vines."

Edmund had never heard Doug speak so quietly but he was glad he'd caught the word. _Vines_. That was the name of his new friend—it was a _vine_. Now he knew.

"What are you talking about?"

"Edmund . . . he's in the fucking vines. Can't you feel him?"

But Kevin didn't know him now. Not really.

"Doug, he damn near just killed Inai. If he were in the vines, I'm pretty sure they'd be on fire."

"It's a simpler system with fewer requirements for immediate survival. It would die over time but it can handle him for a little while."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I don't know," Doug answered quickly. "But I'm fucking telling you, he's in there."

"Well, what the hell is he doing?"

Doug stepped forward and thrust his hand into the wall of foliage, letting his fingers tangle themselves in the vines. Doug's kind weren't built for this sort of communication—they couldn't do it on their own and it hurt them or made them sick, but it never seemed to stop them from trying. The fact that Doug knew him so well had always made the process easier on him, but Edmund still had to work to be gentle.

He hadn't expected the exposure to affect Doug the way it had affected him, but it became immediately apparent that it did. Doug's heart began to beat much faster and his lungs seemed to seize up and quiver. Every system in his fragile body fired off a signal of distress.

"Holy shit," Doug said in a choked voice. "Kevin . . . Jesus fucking Christ."

Edmund felt those horrible feelings leaving him. Doug was taking it away, taking it into himself.

"What is it?" Kevin sounded worried now.

"Declan . . . Dex is dead."

Kevin made an odd sound. It was almost like a chuckle that stopped short. Perhaps he'd thought it was a joke at first, but the contamination had abruptly reached him too. Edmund felt it spreading quickly, sinking in and taking hold, changing them completely in the space of a heartbeat.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Once, he'd seen Kelevra knock over a glass of water, his scattered mind having completely forgotten that it was ever there. He'd forgotten that Edmund was there too. He watched as Kel grabbed a towel and placed it over the spill, letting the cloth soak it up and take it in. A couple of hours later, the towel was dry again, with no lasting damage done.

Edmund realized now, watching the way Kevin and Doug's bodies processed the contamination he'd just infected them with, that it was only water to them. They lived in it, all the time. They breathed it in and felt in on their skin and held it in their bodies. Sometimes it could hurt them, but their bodies were built for that environment and they would be alright in time.

To Edmund, it was fire. Had Kel held a fire to that towel instead, it would have turned to ash and smoke, still existing in that for but never again to return to what it once was.

He walked through fire in this hostile world and tried to ignore the burns. He breathed the water into his lungs and tried not to drown. And, all the while, these strange little creatures stared at him in confusion, frustrated as to why he had to make everything so difficult.

Edmund thought of the power in Declan's hands, the sheer determination that moved through his veins. He thought of the fear that flooded into him through his physical shell, even though the knife didn't hurt at all. The confusion and the sense of betrayal. He had kept thinking " _What have I done wrong?_ ". It was like being crushed beneath waves—drowning. And then, suddenly, Declan was gone and somehow everything got so much worse.

"Declan's dead, Kevin," Doug repeated quietly. It sounded like he was struggling to breath—perhaps he was drowning too. "The Bad Wolf infected him and he died."

 _Infection_ , that's what they called it. Organics got infected with all kinds of things, all the time. It was nothing unusual to them.

"The Bad Wolf hit Torchwood?" Kevin asked loudly. "W-well, what the hell happened? Did it get anyone else? What about Jack? And Annie? Are they okay?"

His voice had an odd shake to it now, and getting louder by the second. Perhaps that was how they processed it? Perhaps those strange, instantaneous reactions were the first steps of their bodies trying to cure the infection, like how they rushed blood towards an injury and immediately began to form clots.

Step one, elevated heart rate, fast and shaky respirations, loss of volume control. Did it help?

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know!?"

Step two, erratic movement—taking pointless steps back and forth, grasping at self, biting at fingernails. Doug barely moved though, barely breathed. Strange that it was so different. Perhaps it was because Doug knew him so well.

"Edmund left right after Dex died. He didn't see what happened."

"Well, tell him to go back! Tell him-tell him to make sure they're safe. Tell him to _do something_!"

But the contamination was like fire and Edmund had let himself burn too much. He was blackened and peeling away, threatening to turn to ash. He'd left himself exposed for too long and he was unprepared for the toxic storm that Declan's body had released upon him.

"He's sick," Doug said. His voice was still quiet, an odd sort of whisper that Edmund had never really heard Doug use before.

"He doesn't have a body. How the hell can he sick?"

Step three, inflamed throat, beginning of tear production. Did it help? Kevin seemed to be fighting the way his body was reacting—trying to breath normally, stubbornly trying to calm down and stop the processes his body had started. Why fight it if it helped? Did the fight help?

"Sick or hurt . . . I don't know what the fuck it is."

The vine was taking damage now. It was slow and not nearly as threatening, but Edmund could feel that there were leaves starting to dry up and shrivel a few hundred feet away. His new friend seemed unconcerned. Vines take damage sometimes. Leaves can be replaced and new tendrils would grow. But Edmund new that the damage wouldn't stop once it had started if he remained there.

"Doug, how close do you think you are to building that void engine?" Kevin was gulping for air in between words, but he seemed to be getting his body under control. Hs heart was pounding away, but his breathing had slowed and, despite his system preparing for it, not a tear had fallen. "We have to get home."

Doug, however, seemed to be doing something quite different. He wasn't in the same sort of distress that Kevin was—there was nothing for him to fight. His heart and his breathing were slow, his muscles relaxed, his mind open and inviting.

"I can do this," Doug whispered, almost as if to himself.

Then, suddenly, there was a pull. Just like Doug had taken the contamination from him, Edmund felt himself being pulled out too. Doug had altered his mind to match Edmund's pure form, and the call of the familiar, untainted sensation was drawing him out of the vine.

Edmund pulled back, not wanting to go, and Doug grunted in pain.

That had caught Kevin's attention. "What are you doing?"

A few drops of blood escaped from Doug's nose and spattered on the floor. Edmund could feel the pain from his mind, but he still didn't let go. Doug tucked the pain away and returned to Edmund's natural state and the pull began again.

"Doug?"

"Just give me a second."

"You're bleeding. Stop it."

"I can do it."

Edmund wanted to pull away again. Doug might break the same way that woman did or, worse, the same way Declan did. Edmund could force him to stop, but that might break him too. Doug wasn't giving him many options.

"Doug, your sister is gonna kill me if I bring you back brain dead!" Kevin shouted, sounding frightened. "Did you not just see what happened to Inai? _Stop_!"

"It's fine," Doug answered, in that same quiet and calm voice. "I think I know how it works. I can do it."

Kevin said something else in protest but Edmund wasn't paying him any mind anymore. He was paying attention to Doug, to the environment he was creating. It was almost free of contamination, safe from exposure. It was like he understood.

Someone _finally_ understood.

Edmund thanked his new friend for its help and tried his best to fix the damage he'd caused on his way out. Then he allowed Doug to take him.

He felt the body shudder in pain and, immediately, several systems began to suffer problems. But, instead of the chaos that so quickly erupted in the woman's body, here it stayed calm. He felt Doug's presence guiding him through the organic structure, showing him how it worked and how to help it. He started to fix the parts that he'd broken already and avoided breaking more thanks to the guidance he received.

After a few moments, it felt like being in the artificial vessel he'd built for himself, except that it was louder and warmer. Doug opened his eyes and Edmund could see. He felt the soft leaves of the vine tangled around Doug's fingers and smelled the sharp scent of blood.

Doug let go of the vine slowly, like he wasn't sure if he had been successful or not.

"I am here," Edmund told him with his own voice.

Then he grinned.

"Fucking hell, I did it."

"What?" Kevin asked nervously. "What did you do?"

Doug turned and looked towards a pile of objects in the corner of the room. Edmund immediately understood what it all was and what Doug had hoped to do with it. He understood. He could help.

Doug smiled happily and began to make his way towards the pile. "I just found out how to get home."


	34. Chapter 34: Neverwas

Something exciting was happening. Hunting was always exciting, especially since they were fed so little these days, but this was something different. This was something that made them forget everything else.

There was food everywhere, hiding behind strong shields that sent them bouncing away. They had managed to find a weak spot in the shields to reach through, wrapping around warm flesh and pulling. The body kicked and screamed and fought. They always did. That was okay. They seemed to taste better when they fought. They almost had pulled their meal free when the body suddenly lifted a weapon and turned it on itself.

Such a shame. The tastiness of the fight would be effectively ruined now that the shade was incomplete but, still, it was better than nothing. The shields closed in and they fled, clutching their prize. It was just as they were beginning to absorb the hard earned morsel that the exciting things began.

Somewhere, not very far away, a body seemed to explode with energy. The sky lit up with it, casting so many shadows on the ground that it looked like their army had tripled. And they felt it. Raw, unfiltered power. Time energy in its purest form, plucked from the world around it and concentrated inside a tiny body, only to be released like a blazing fire. They'd seen it before, but only when the body needed to regenerate and, even then, it was in small amounts that quickly dissipated. But not this.

The shade they were holding onto was absorbed quickly, without thought and with little appreciation. It was hard to pay attention to the half-formed thing it had wrestled free when it looked like there was a fountain of nectar up ahead.

There was no fight to be found. No resistance. They flew toward the energy and plucked it free as though it were fruit from a tree, and devoured it hungrily. And nectar it was. So full of life! And freely given! They felt stronger the moment it began to absorb—warmer almost.

A meal was rare enough, but one that didn't have to be fought for was unheard of. As they swooped back around to capture another piece, they wondered if they could get away with devouring this one too. Could they take several? They had to have something to bring back but the fountain would surely stop at some point.

As if the quivering body beneath the light had heard the thought, the light began to dim and sputter. It would end soon, and then it would be back to fighting. They would risk the wrath of the King if they came back empty handed. Though the temptation was hard to resist, they decided that greed would do little more than keep them satisfied for as long as it took the King to devour them. With a slight reluctance, they tore free another piece of the burning light, and made for home.

The portal felt much further away on the way back, the warm light growing more and more tempting with every passing moment. They still felt the warmth spreading from the last piece, stretching out like little roots and taking hold. They wanted more of that. More and more and more. But, even now, the light on the surface had gone out and the army was retreating, clutching their glowing prizes with pride.

They did not hold theirs with pride. They held theirs with envy. It was difficult enough to give up the ordinary, bland energy they harvested but _this_? It just felt unfair.

They considered consuming it and then simply turning back for another meal of ordinary energy. Would the King really be able to tell? It wasn't worth the risk, they thought with dismay. He'd seen others devoured for failing to return with an offering or even for simply getting in his way. Surely, being caught trying to pull some kind of trick would mean being consumed, and they wanted to avoid that more than they wanted to sate their hunger.

The city was in an uproar. There was a black tide pushing towards the portal—a frenzy of starving mouths desperate to return for more. No doubt, the scent of the golden light was drawing them back, not knowing that the source had already stopped.

There was more though. Something else was happening. They could feel an energy in the air—angry and raw, like the King when he went into a rage. It wasn't the King though. They could feel the King's call, summoning his serfs for their offerings. No, this came from the King's Master, the one with the pink body and the shielding crown. The energy that ripped through the air was vicious, promising pain and devouring.

They shuddered with excitement. Perhaps they would be fed again after all.

Time to make an offering to the King first though. Then they could follow the turbulent energy and find out what was causing it or, better yet, what it was going to be caused by it.

The closer they got to the King, more and more offerings went by, held by others on the same path. Some held onto the same burning light that they did, while others held on to shades. But there was something strange going on. Some of the ones carrying light looked different than the others. The usually oily look to them had changed to something that looked duller, almost like smoke. Almost like. . .

And then there was one. A Meanwhile, like the King, walking towards him with a hand full of golden light. Then there was another and a third. They couldn't believe it. Meanwhiles didn't hunt for the King. Any Meanwhiles they made came stumbling through the portal, newly born and confused, were given only a few minutes to get their bearing before he King hunted them down and devoured them. These ones were marching right up to him, knowing enough to bring an offering yet seemingly oblivious to what would happen to them.

And then, with a horrible thought, they looked down. Instead of oily, nearly shapeless appendages clutching the light, there were grey hands. Distinct, dark, smoky grey hands. Not quite a Meanwhile, but not quite what they were before either. And they hadn't even noticed.

They stopped, suddenly realizing what had happened. Suddenly realizing that they were thinking so much more than they used to—that things had moved from the simple desires to feed and survive to something more complex. The light had changed them somehow. Something about the energy, so pure and raw and filling, had woken something up that had been asleep for a long time.

Was this what it felt like to be a Meanwhile? Perhaps if they consumed the remaining light, they'd find out.

No, they quickly decided. To become a Meanwhile was to be doomed. The King devoured all the Meanwhiles. They hadn't changed fully yet, so they might still be safe. They could make their offering and carry on and find out what to do with this new awareness.

 _Don't be fucking stupid,_ a voice seemed to say. _That's how you get yourself killed._

It was quiet and far away, yet seemed real enough. They had heard those words. Though perhaps it wasn't now. It must have been some time ago. They couldn't begin to think of why they might remember such a thing.

 _Pay attention. Think before you act._

They kept move towards the King, but slowly now. Paying attention. Thinking. The Meanwhiles would be eaten, they knew that much. But what about the others that were like them? Smokey and shapely but not fully changed?

They slowed down and waited. A Meanwhile gave their offering and King the grabbed it by the wrist, taking both the Meanwhile and the light at once. It shrieked and struggled and tried to get away, but the King was used to devouring his own kind and overpowered it easily. Several lesser ones came, offered, left without incident, and the King consumed shades and light insatiably.

Then, finally, another like themselves. A dull, dark grey being held out formed hands, offering up the burning light. The King hesitated, looking it over carefully. It seemed as if even he wasn't sure what to make of it. After a moment, he reached out towards the light and plucked it from the grey hands. As the light sunk in and disappeared, its deliverer turned to leave. For a second, it seemed that all would be well.

Then the King struck. Perhaps he hadn't made up his mind until that very moment. Perhaps he just enjoyed making a game of it. Either way, the King dragged the shadowy creature towards him, slowly absorbing its body into his own. It screamed pitifully, waving those beautifully formed hands as though signaling for help. It tried to push against the King, trying to break away, but its hands just sunk into his body and were devoured as well. Before long, the screaming had stopped and the moment was over. The others, the Meanwhiles, and those in between all continued their slow journey, completely unaware or uncaring that some of them were marching to their deaths.

 _Just be safe_ , _okay?_

The King would devour them. They knew that now. They'd just seen it. Their only choice to survive was to get away. If they left without making an offering, the King would follow them, but they could slip into the crowd of those that had already made their offerings and hope to go unnoticed.

They would have to get rid of the light first.

They lowered their hands, trying to hold the light out of view, and slowly began to absorb it.

Instantly, the King's head turned towards them and their eyes locked. The stare was hard and piercing and the King's body shifted in a way that immediately sent a feeling of panic through them. As the light sunk in and disappeared under the King's watchful eyes, they could only think of two words.

Predator. Prey.

Fuck.

 _Run,_ he heard that voice telling him earnestly.

 _Run!_

He ran. Rushing through the black sea and searching for a place to escape, he felt like he was seeing the world around him for the first time. What was once just an environment of steel and concrete, he now recognized as a dead city. Instead of sliding along, he had legs that moved and feet that touched the ground. For a moment, he even thought that he had lungs to breathe and a heart to beat, but those proved to only be memories too.

Memories of _what_? Why would he know what that felt like?

Why was he suddenly a 'he'?

The same reason the King was, he supposed.

He looked back over his shoulder and spotted the King. He was throwing a bit of a tantrum now, realizing how many offerings and clueless Meanwhiles he would have to pass up in order to give chase. Now he was just grabbing at whatever was in reach, gorging on offerings and Meanwhiles and whatever was stupid enough to get in his way.

But he wasn't safe yet. That voice was talking still, echoing in his thoughts with a frantic tone that told him he needed to listen carefully.

 _You keep running and you get inside and you fucking stay there until I come for you. Do you understand me? Don't stop. Don't look back. You just hide and you wait._

He recognized the voice as a woman's now. As he ran, he could imagine the expression on her face, frightened to the point of almost being angry, but he couldn't think of what her face actually looked like. There was lingering feeling of fingers pushing into his arm, demanding that he pay attention.

But none of it made sense. He had only ever lived in the dead city, with the rest of the horde, waiting for the portals to open, feeding, offering, and avoiding the King's temper. He had never been spoken to. He had never run before because he had never had legs. He had never been grabbed by the arm because he had never had an arm. He'd never run out of breath because he had never had lungs.

These were the memories of someone who he never was. Why were they coming to him now?

He tried to make sense of it—tried to remember more. Eventually, he was far enough away from the King and his army that he could barely hear them and the light of the portals was just a dim glow over the edge of the buildings. He stopped running. He stood and waited and thought, unsure of what to do next. And then he looked around.

He knew this place. He knew it in a way that felt old, like the other memories. He knew what it felt like to stand here after running, gasping for breath and wiping sweat from his brow. He'd run here before. He'd run here _again_.

Why?

He caught sight of his reflection in a shop's window. He expected to see a Meanwhile looking back at him, but it was still a surprise. He had a full form now, right down to having a face. He could swear he'd never had a face before and yet it looked familiar. Perhaps he'd stolen someone else's.

Why would he run here?

He looked around, trying to find the reason. He'd wanted somewhere to hide—the voice had told him to hide. He must have come here for that reason. The shops had glass windows and the street was wide open with no nooks or dark corners to slip behind.

And then his eyes turned to the side, as though they remembered the answer even when he didn't. There was a section of the ground that made little sense, though he never would have noticed it as anything unusual before. There was a metal fence that seemed to surround nothing but an oddly shaped mound on the ground, lumpy and hard and full of metal bits that didn't usually sit in the ground. Then he spotted the door. It didn't look like a door really, but he knew that was what it was—a strange square of metal that stuck out from the solid ground as though it had dug its way up from underneath. He saw something he recognized as a handle, but he wasn't sure how it worked or else he might have opened it.

He didn't remember opening it. He didn't remember getting inside. He remembered looking at the door, frightened, with his heart beating out of his chest, and then . . . And then what?

He looked around again, hoping to find some clue as to how to open the door. He had stood and stared at it, just as he was now, and then . . . He paced. He had walked back and forth and looked down the street. He remembered that now. He remembered looking down the street and seeing nothing, seeing only what he saw now. A dead city with silent streets filled with nothing but discarded clothing and shadows burned into the ground. He stood and he watched and his heart beat and he was frightened and . . .

There used to be a car behind him.

There used to be an old car that was so orange it was difficult to tell what was paint and what was rust. He turned to look but there was nothing there. Some pieces of it remained—a broken off side mirror, a few chunks of glass, but the vehicle itself was gone.

Then his eyes traveled further, down to his feet, and he saw where he was standing. His feet were planted perfectly at the feet of one of those shadows burned into the ground.

He looked at the shape curiously, trying to work out what it was exactly. It was twisted in a strange way, limbs bent and arranged as though in motion, an arm stretched out as though it had been reaching for the car that once stood there.

There were no clothes or shoes. Nothing left behind other than the mark itself. Strange, when so many others had at least something physical left behind.

He tried to mimic the shape. He wanted to know what it was doing, but it seemed so bizarre that he couldn't make sense of it. He kept his feet in place, facing away from the door and away from the car. Knees bent, torso twisted. He must have been looking behind him, he decided. But then . . . leaning forward and reaching back at the same time?

He stretched his arm out, feeing a little silly, standing in such a strange way, and then feeling silly for feeling silly because it wasn't like there was anyone around to see him. He ignored the feeling of silliness and tried to position his arm to fit the shadow's and then leaned forward. Was he reaching back or pulling away?

The memory crept up on him. It wasn't a flash of realization but a slow process of piecing fitting together until the picture was clear. He let his arms down and turned so that he could face the empty space once occupied by a car without twisting. His eyes turned to the shop window again, staring at the grey Meanwhile looking back at him and imagined what it would look like if it were pink.

He'd been standing here, anxiously waiting, staring down the street with his back to the car. He never even saw the oily black creature sitting in the vehicle's shadow, never heard it creeping over the top of it. He remembered seeing movement out of the corner of his eye just a split second before it grabbed hold of his wrist. He turned, screamed, tried to rip his arm free, and then . . . nothing.

He'd been hunted. Just as he had been hunting such a short time ago, ripping chunks of shade free from living bodies, thinking only of feeding. The creature that had hunted him had fed, or else given that part of him as offering to the King, and probably didn't even notice that it had created another being like itself.

All those Meanwhiles he saw marching to the King—had any of _them_ started to remember? Did the King remember what he was before? _Who_ he was before?

He wished he could remember who he was. That quivering, frightened, breathless pink thing had been standing here for a reason. He had come here for a reason and he had stopped at the door for a reason. He had been waiting for something.

And then he heard a sound.

Someone gasped. It was a sound of surprise but there was something else to it that was more than just that.

"Oh my god." A whisper carried in the air, the person speaking sounding breathless and almost ill. "Don't look. Just don't look."

He turned to see where the sound had come from, down the empty street where his eyes had been looking when he was still a person. He saw what he had been looking for. He saw a face he had been trying to remember.

The one who was speaking was a stranger, but the woman that she was trying to steer away leapt out like a living memory. Tall and fair and intimidating, even when she was clearly in distress. That was the person who had told him to run and hide and be safe. He had run away when she told him to but he hadn't wanted to leave her behind. That was why he was scared.

He was scared for her.

Why?

He took a couple of steps towards them and the woman made another sound, worse than the one before. She sounded like a wounded animal.

"It sees us," the smaller one said. She grabbed hold of the distressed woman's arm and started to pull. "We have to get out of sight. Wait for it to move on."

She moved. Even though it looked like she didn't want to. Even though it looked like she might fall down, she stiffened her back and strengthened her legs and she moved. They ran behind a nearby building, waited a moment, and then crept through its broken door to hide inside.

It immediately occurred to him that he could feed. Even with all the things that made no sense and that he wanted to learn, the desire to hunt and to feed was almost stronger than everything else. But if he hunted them, he would never learn how to open the door or find out what was behind it.

He lingered a while, deciding that it was best to let them think that he hadn't paid much attention to them. He wandered around on the street, looking down at all the shadows on the ground, wondering about all the bodies they must have belonged to. Then, after a little time had passed, he wandered down the street, away from the place that the women were hiding, trying to appear lost and uninterested until he found a corner to turn.

He waited until he heard footsteps and then he leaned out to watch. The women had emerged from their hiding place and were hurrying across the street. When they got to the door, they crouched low and grabbed hold of the handle, spinning it quickly. The door made a sound, they pulled, and it swung open.

He waited some time after they had gone, thinking, trying to decide what to do. It was during that time when he began to feel the pull. The King was calling, summoning his army once more. It was time to hunt again, only not to feed this time. He moved as though to obey, but quickly realized that it was only out of habit and not because he had no choice.

He was a Meanwhile now, and it was with a sense of giddiness that he suddenly realized that the King no longer held power over him. He didn't have to go to the King or join his hunt. He could do anything. He could run away and keep running, never stopping, never looking back, just like he had been told to do before he had been hunted.

Except that he didn't listen to that either.

He had stopped. He had looked back. He had waited by the door instead of hiding and then he had been hunted and fed upon and became a shade of energy, the person he belonged to disappearing as though he was never there at all.

It suddenly occurred to him that the King might be summoning his army to hunt _him_. He was a Meanwhile, and Meanwhiles were meant to be devoured. He had escaped for a time, but the King was not known to let anything go for long.

Perhaps he should listen now. Not to the King, but to the woman who had wanted to keep him safe. She would not feed on him if he obeyed her, he was certain of that. Even if he was very, very late and not all of him was there to do so, wasn't it better if he obeyed her now than if he never obeyed at all?

He hurried across the street, walking through the space where the car had once stood and stepping over the shadow that his body had left on the ground. Even after watching how to open it, it took him a few tries to figure out how the door worked, but he managed to get the handle to spin eventually. He turned it until it made the sound it made before and then pulled.

The doorway opened up to empty darkness and he hesitated. It didn't look like an especially safe place. He wasn't entirely certain if that was where he had wanted to go, but the last time he stood next to this door and hesitated, part of him had been devoured. If he stood there and waited again, perhaps the rest of him would be devoured too.

That woman had told him to be safe. She had told him to hide. This time, he should listen.

So he set off into the darkness.


	35. Chapter 35: Harry

The worst day was the worst for reasons that Harry had never expected. They'd woken in the morning, barely speaking as they sleepily got dressed, and Kel began his regular routine to connect with his host. Harry braced for the nauseating wave of pent up pain and rage that was briefly unleashed each day, but it never came. Instead, Kel just finished making his bed, flashing a quick smile when he noticed he was being watched.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, splashing his face with water in an attempt to make it seem as though he hadn't been staring. "Just thinking . . . I don't know how much we'll be able to get done today."

"So much snow," Kel nodded in agreement. "I suppose a day or two staying in won't hurt us."

The snow had started on their way back from the pub the night before, coming down thick and heavy. Harry hadn't been sure what to say as they trudged back through it. Despite his discomfort and intoxication, Kel had performed beautifully—showing just the right amount of confidence, expressing interest in all the right things, laughing at the right times. He even managed a real looking smile a couple of times. He had Hathorne wrapped around his finger in under twenty minutes. Kel spent another hour drinking and talking with him, getting the man interested enough for him to start taking risks, letting his behaviour and body language become just a tad too friendly. Once that change in behaviour came, Kel started talking about feeling unwell and needing to get back before the weather turned.

Had Harry been with Jack, they'd be laughing about it, reliving the best parts, possibly even delving into the fantasies of what could have been if they'd been in a more agreeable time. Had he been with the Doctor, he knew that a combination of slight jealousy and being turned on by the skill of manipulation would have had him struggling to keep his hands to himself until they'd made it back home. Making that walk with Kel, he was uncertain with what to do. He didn't imagine joking about it would have been received well, considering that Kel found the whole situation loathsome and didn't appreciate being put into it.

He tried to get Kel to talk instead, asking what Hathorne had told him. That didn't work out well. Kel could struggle to focus on uneven terrain and talk at the same time on a good day, and he was quite drunk at that point. He attempted to explain, struggling to remember and sort out his words as he carefully stepped through the thick snow. He switched languages a couple of times, without even seeming to notice, and then he stumbled. He would have fallen if Harry hadn't caught him by the arm.

Kel had pushed his hand away hurriedly, but then looked at Harry as though he were suddenly surprised. _Drunk_ , Harry thought. Perhaps alcohol affected his connection with his host and it somehow felt uncomfortable to be touched. Harry took a step away from him to show that he didn't plan to touch him again and they continued their walk in silence.

When they got back to the tavern, Kel had dumped his clothing in a messy pile on the floor, skipped his usual night time routine with those odd little stones he carried, and climbed into bed, shivering and pulling the blankets over his head. Harry thought he had fallen almost immediately asleep and decided to hang his clothes and put his boots near the fire before getting undressed himself.

At least ten minutes went by before he heard Kel's voice mutter quietly from beneath the blankets, "Good night, Harold."

And now something was different.

Harry felt almost annoyed with himself for being concerned. He had expected Kel to wake up grumpy and bitchy over Harry's trickery from the night before, but he wasn't. It wasn't even the fact that he wasn't grumpy that was bothersome. It was something else—something that Harry couldn't put his finger on aside from the absence of the wave of negativity he usually released each morning.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Harry asked carefully.

Kel stopped moving for a second to think. "I believe so," he answered after a moment. "Though I suppose I wouldn't know if I had forgotten, would I? I don't remember anything happening after we came back."

"That's right. You just went to sleep."

"There we are then," Kel smiled that odd little smile of his. "Pub, drinks, Hathorne, and bed."

Harry nodded slowly. "What did Hathorne tell you?"

"It was rather straight-forward really. People go into the woods and they don't come out. There have been reports of missing persons for over a year now, nine people in total missing."

The facts were coming easily and with little thought. Kel wasn't struggling to remember them. He knew exactly what Hathorne had said.

"One witness said that his father wandered away from the path and never came back. They looked for him and saw a woman, watching them. They called out and moved closer, but somehow lost her in the trees—vanished without a trace."

"So it might just be a human woman."

"Or something that looked like one," Kel answered quickly. "Hathorne said that she was described as looking inhuman in some way. The witness said he was certain it was a spirit."

Harry frowned. "That's not a whole lot of information to go on . . ."

"I thought it might be an ellylldan."

Harry blinked at him, a bit surprised by the optimism in his voice. "An ellylldan," he answered slowly.

"I'll admit that the environment here isn't quite what they usually go for but, perhaps just like us, it doesn't have much choice. The woods along the river would work as hunting grounds in a pinch."

Harry caught himself staring again and had to make a conscious effort to stop. All over the universe, there were stories of mysterious spirits that used some kind of lures to draw travelers into the water, where they would drown and be devoured. People on Earth called them will-o-the-wisps, aleya, or sirens, but the name they chose to take with them when they finally made it to the stars was "ellylldan". Time Lords called them Remnants in the old stories—believing them to be the discarded energy from a regeneration, attempting to carry on living. They were a myth that seemed to have touched every species, yes, but a myth all the same.

"Kel, ellylldan are just stories."

"No, they're not."

Harry felt a headache coming on and rubbed at his forehead irritably. "And what makes you say that?"

"I used to be one."

It wasn't even what he said. It was the _way_ he said it. Kel was always so reluctant to reveal anything about himself and, when he did, it was usually to achieve something. It was to manipulate, surprise, or even humiliate. But there was no indication that this was an attempt to manipulate him and the way Kel carried on about his business made Harry think it had nothing to do with embarrassing him or throwing him off guard either. He wasn't watching for a reaction to enjoy or take advantage of. He was just gazing out the window at the snow.

"It's a proper blizzard now," he said quietly. "I think we'll need a rope just to get to the shed."

"Are you going to elaborate at all?" Harry asked after a moment had passed without Kel offering up any new information. "You _used to be_ an ellylldan?"

Kel barely glanced in his direction before turning his attention back to the window. "As a host, of course. I fell for its trick. It was night and I was looking for shelter. I saw a light and thought it might be a building or a camp, followed it, and fell down a small cliff side into a lake below. I struck a rock and my spine was crushed. I couldn't move and my host sank into the water. When the ellylldan came to feed, I left my host and took the ellylldan instead."

"But it was alive."

Kel shrugged. "Once I was attached to its nervous system, all I had to do was cut off the connection the brain had to the rest of the body and wait."

"You mean that you killed it."

"Yes. I survived. It didn't."

"So you not only discovered that a mythical creature existed, but you inhabited its body and learned all about how it works, and you never thought that was worth mentioning?"

"Of course I did," Kel answered simply. "With your interest in the evolution of life, I realized shortly after I met you that it would be something you would find greatly interesting. I was waiting for an opportunity to tell you about it."

It was just conversation, Harry realized. That's what was so different. Kel wasn't lying or hiding or manipulating, and neither was Harry. They were just talking for the sake of talking, and Kel actually seemed comfortable with it. Harry remembered Kel handing him the fern he grew and telling him that he would like for them to be friends. He remembered Kel trying to start a conversation on their first night in Salem and how he reacted gruffly and shot him down. He had known Kel for years and had always just written him off as one of those relationships where they mutually disliked each other.

All the time they had spent in each other's presence and Kel was just waiting for an opportunity to talk.

"I'd like to hear about it," he found himself saying quietly. "When we have some free time."

"Of course," Kel answered without hesitation. "Seems like my date is cancelled anyway."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Date?"

"Mm. Judge Hathorne was very willing to give up information right up until I asked him where I might find the supposed spirit. He insisted that we meet so that he could _show_ me." He grimaced. "I don't know what he could possibly hope for out in the woods. Even without the storm, it's freezing outside."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Honestly, things are a bit different in this time. Most likely, he just wanted to see you again. I don't think he would try something like that so soon."

Kel just shook his head.

Bridget didn't have much for them to do. She agreed that the snow was too dangerous for anyone to go outside beyond what a rope would reach. Harry volunteered to brave the outdoors, knowing he was best suited for it anyway, and bundled up. They tied two ropes around his waist, in case one of them broke, and Kel and Bridget's husband, Ed, held onto the ends. Then he ventured out into the storm.

The wind was cold and the snow was blinding, but Harry had actually been in much worse before. He fed the animals and came back with a basket full of eggs in only a few minutes. Bridget went easy on him after that, giving him just a couple of simple chores to do. She had Kel doing kitchen work, chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes for supper. Harry watched him work out of the corner of his eye as he cleaned, still looking for some reason for his unusual behaviour.

Even Bridget seemed to have noticed. She walked past Harry as he was scrubbing down the tables and chairs and tilted her head in Kel's direction.

"How much did he drink last night?"

Harry smiled a bit. "Too much."

"Did he find himself a woman?"

"No, ma'am."

"Hmm," Bridget raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the table again. "Perhaps he should drink more often."

Then she made her way over to the table where Kel was working and sat down beside him with a basket full of clothing that needed mending. She stitched and Kel chopped and they chatted together happily. Harry knew he shouldn't find someone else's peace so unsettling, but it was. It felt like Kel had disappeared in the night, his host and somehow come back to life, and now they were stranded with a stranger in the storm and didn't even know it.

After a while, Kel had finished the meal prep and instead started mixing medicines. Harry finished his own work and fetched a bowl of hot broth and a heel of bread, then sat down with the others at the table.

Kel was explaining the medicinal properties of his ingredients to Bridget as he worked them and she frequently forgot her mending as she listened. Harry ate silently and watched, listening carefully. If he'd known Kel better, he might have known more about his life before he came to Earth. He might have known the things that had happened that him the person he was. He might have known what he would have to forget to make him seem so happy and youthful.

His first guess would have been a failed romance—it was a common enough source of pain—but he doubted that was the case given what he'd learned the night before. His next thought was family issues and, while it was clear that those existed, Kel revealed that he remembered his family just fine.

"Where did you learn all this?" Bridget asked him at one point. "Your mother must have taught you."

Kel had actually chuckled when he shook his head. "I don't think my mother ever taught me anything."

Bridget seemed to find that amusing, smirking when she answered, "I'm sure she'd disagree."

"I'm sure she would. But she would also disagree when I tell you that the woman is a bitch, and that is, undoubtedly, a fact."

Bridget's eyes opened wide and Harry dropped his spoon into his bowl. Kel quickly looked back and forth between them, seeming to have realized that he'd done something wrong.

"Apologies," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to cause offense."

Harry could feel the nervousness coming off of him. Even without telepathically reaching out, he could feel it. He was unsure and worried that Bridget thought he was rude and Harry hadn't had to put forth the slightest amount of effort to feel it. He was completely unguarded.

Bridget smiled after a moment. "Of course not, love," she said warmly and reached forward to touch his cheek. "Not every woman is made to be a mother and it's only a fool who takes offense to the truth. Still, perhaps hurts can be mended. Are your parents still living?"

Kel seemed relieved by her touch and the kindness in her voice. "I don't know. I haven't been back in a long time."

Bridget nodded slowly and then announced that the smell of Harry's broth was making her hungry. She excused herself, pausing briefly to bend down and kiss Kel's head before leaving. Harry didn't need to reach out for her either to know what she thought. Kel may have been a full-grown man, but all she saw now was a boy who needed a good mother. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she'd feel the same way if she'd seen how easily he shot Mr. Corey in the head and gutted and stuffed his corpse.

"Have I said too much?" Kel asked quietly once they were alone. "Have I compromised us?"

"No," Harry answered. "It was just an unexpected thing to say, that's all. Most people don't speak about their mothers like that."

Kel raised his eyebrows, almost skeptically. "If you had met—"

"I don't think you should tell me anything else about your parents, Kel." He had hoped he wouldn't need to elaborate, but Kel looked at him with a face full of confusion and Harry felt the need to explain. "You don't talk about this stuff. You just don't. I think you're not quite yourself today and you wouldn't be telling us these kinds of things normally. I think you've forgotten something and that, when you remember it, you won't be happy about what you've been telling us."

Kel frowned a little, thinking carefully over his words before speaking. "I can remember them though. I haven't forgotten."

Harry sighed and acted on a hunch. "Does the word bandit mean anything to you?"

Kel thought again, his frown deepening. "No," he answered hesitantly. "Should it?"

"It was your name once."

"Oh," his eyes wandered slowly around the room, trying to recall and failing. "Strange name," he said finally and turned his attention back to his work.

Harry wanted to tell him what he knew—the small snippets of information he had. Whoever had given him that name had meant enough to him that it made him furious to hear Harry say it. His mind looked for that person when he woke up frightened in the night and needed to calm down. He had said she was the first person he had truly looked up to. Her presence had turned him into a completely different person and her absence had left a wound that would likely never heal.

It didn't seem right that he should forget that, but it didn't seem right that Harry should try to make him remember either.

He wondered if this was what he would be like if he lost his memory of the Doctor. He was, without a doubt, the most influential person in his life and even the pain of losing Qhoya had been made different—worse, really—because of his presence. His childhood, his education, his career, his adventures in the stars and his battles on planets, they all swayed with the Doctor. He thought about what it would be like if he couldn't remember him and the thought made him feel ill. Even when they were enemies, even when it made him unhappy, he knew that a life without the Doctor was never what he had wanted.

When Bridget returned, Kel continued his lesson and Harry noticed that she was now going a little out of her way to show him affection and praise his work. If Kel noticed at all that he was being coddled, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to mind when Bridget was standing behind him and looking over his shoulder, carefully observing his technique, and placed her hand on his back.

Harry saw her thumb touch the strange lump on the back of his neck, barely concealed by his hair. He saw her look and then quickly look again, noticing it for the first time. He watched her carefully move her hand a little higher, her fingers gently, curiously stroking the lump as though she had simply wanted to affectionately touch his hair. He tried to think of a way to distract her or make Kel realize what was happening, but wasn't sure how to do it without raising suspicion.

After a moment, Bridget caught him looking. She relaxed her face and smiled at him, kept her hand where it was, and let her cheek rest against Kel's head. She wasn't afraid. She didn't even look concerned. She just kept listening to Kel's instructions and let her fingers rest on the back of his neck.

Harry thought that might be the end of it until Bridget surprised him again.

Kel had just finished showing her the recipe he was working on when she stood up straight, thanked him for showing her, and then touched the back of his neck again. "So, is this the real you then?"

Without a second's hesitation, Kel nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Can I ask what you look like?"

"I don't know," Kel answered, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. "I'm blind actually, so the only time I'm able to see is through a host, which means I've never been able to see myself. I suppose I could try—"

"Kelevra," Harry cut in. Kel stopped talking and looked at him curiously—clearly, he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be pretending to be human. "I'm feeling a little unwell. I would appreciate it if you would make a cup of tea for me."

Kel looked at him for a brief moment, seemingly trying to work out why this had been asked so suddenly. "Of course, Harry," he answered, still looking slightly puzzled.

He stood up and left the table, taking a hand full of ingredients with him to return to the kitchen. Bridget simply stood there, smiling at Harry, as they waited for the kitchen door to close.

"Mrs. Bishop—"

"Save your breath, boy," Bridget interrupted quickly. "I knew you two were trouble when I picked you up. I knew you were hiding truths about who you were and what you were doing. I knew then, and I took you in anyway. I did wonder, with the things I heard and the things I've seen you do, if you were some kind of ungodly things—witches, or even demons."

Harry opened his mouth to try to explain but Bridget quickly raised her hand to quiet him.

"Demons don't get angry with their mothers, Harry," she said gently. "They don't have mothers to be angry with nor do they have people to miss. They don't get chilled from the cold, or bleed from their noses, or get foolish with drink. I've heard you two talking, when you think you can't be heard, and I know that you're men. You might not be . . . I might not know what you _are_ exactly or how it is you live, but I also didn't understand how roots and leaves become medicine until someone cleverer than a tavern-keeper taught me how. I'm not foolish enough to think I know everything about God's creation—not even the men He built."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, so he settled for bowing his head humbly and saying, "Thank you."

Bridget nodded in return and crossed her arms, spreading her legs a little and planting her feet as though she were bracing for a fierce gale. "So," she said hesitantly. "Are you spirits then?"

"No, ma'am," Harry answered quickly. "Flesh and blood, just like you."

She gestured at his body and face. "And this is you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What happened to the boy that . . ." She paused and took a breath, seeming to prepare herself for the strange question she needed to ask. "The face that the good doctor uses."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. He died before Kel took him though."

"Seems unnatural," Bridget muttered, almost as if to herself. "Though, I suppose I wouldn't mind it if someone else found a use for my old bones after I was gone. No harm in being useful."

Harry couldn't help but smile at that. Bridget was nothing if not practical.

"That's why he smiles like that, isn't it? Must feel strange to him," she said quietly. "You know, they call him the Smiling Man in town. Some folks think it's funny, but some think it's strange. Folks can be unkind around here."

Harry nodded. He wished he could say something about the people in town not knowing any better but he couldn't make the words come out. _He_ knew better and he'd done the same thing. How many times had he mocked or even scolded Kel for that smile?

Bridget took another moment to think before uncrossing her arms, placing her hands on her hips instead. "And you're good men?"

"We try to be, ma'am."

"And are you dangerous?"

"Not to you, ma'am."

Bridget eyed him suspiciously. "Well, you might not tell the whole truth, but you choose your words very carefully so as not to make yourself a liar."

Harry smiled again, feeling a little sheepish. "Yes, ma'am."

She looked back towards the kitchen door, making sure that it was still closed, before pointing her thumb towards it. "Is he sick?"

Harry tilted his head curiously, unsure what she meant.

"He forgets things. He's asked me if the axe is in the shed more times than I can count. He's worse than my old Nan was before she died."

Harry had hoped she hadn't noticed that, but he supposed that it had helped them in the end. A demon surely wouldn't have the memory of a senile old woman.

"I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. "I didn't know there was anything wrong before we came here. If I get him home, I could get him to a doctor."

"And I don't suppose you can get home on a horse, can you?"

Harry shook his head and Bridget sat down at the table.

"How can you do it?"

Harry pointed hesitantly at bowl of paste that Kel had mixed together on the table. "It would look a bit like that."

Bridget raised her eyebrow and stared at the bowl for a long moment. "You mean that it looks like a witch's work."

"Anything looks like witchcraft if you don't understand it," Harry answered quickly. "There are no devils or demons or unholy alliances involved, I promise you. It's only knowing how the elements of the world can interact with each other, pure and simple, just like making medicine or cooking a meal or turning metal ore into tools."

"You'll be hanged if your caught."

"Yes, ma'am."

Bridget leaned back in her chair, sighing again. She looked like she had more to say, perhaps even like she wanted to argue, but she stayed quiet. Harry couldn't imagine being in her position and not asking a thousand questions—he would want to know where they came from, how they traveled, and what they were. But Bridget was too practical for such things. She'd asked everything that she needed to.

Kel returned a couple of minutes later with three cups of tea. He seemed to notice the heaviness of the silence as he carefully put them down and offered them one of his strange smiles. Bridget smiled back immediately, warm and loving, looking at him as though she were seeing him for the first time.

By lunch time, work was done and Bridget seemed tired of talking, so they went their separate ways. They'd chosen not to tell Kel that he'd blown their cover and Harry hoped he might not realize what he'd done. If he knew he was safe to speak freely around Bridget, he would be more likely to slip up again and reveal himself to someone less friendly than her.

They retired to their room for the afternoon. Harry was glad for the chance to get some extra rest, hoping that it might help speed along the healing process in his head, but Kel seemed strangely attached to staring out the window. Harry briefly wondered if it was the first time he'd seen a blizzard. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he couldn't even remember seeing snow before today.

Maybe they should talk about it, he realized. If it were happening to himself, he'd want to talk about it. Jack would want to talk. The Doctor wouldn't want to, but he would _need_ to, and he'd feel much better afterwards. Surely, it was frightening? Even in just the short time that Harry had been stuck with him, he'd been noticing that it was getting worse. He knew how frightening his attacks could be, unable to remember and feeling like he was losing himself, and couldn't imagine feeling it all day every day, aware of just enough to know that it wasn't stopping or even slowing down.

He wanted to offer to talk about it but couldn't seem to make himself say it. He told himself that it would be wrong anyway. Kel wasn't his usual self—being more open about his feelings and his personal life, and Harry was certain that he wouldn't care to share that kind of information at any other time. To ask his questions or to try to get him to talk about his health concerns would be taking advantage, wouldn't it?

He was still mentally debating it with himself when it happened.

He heard Kel gasp and saw him bend like he'd been punched in the gut a split second before the pain hit. Harry felt like he'd suddenly had his head split with an axe and blood immediately began to flow from his nose. For a second, he had no idea what happened.

But then he felt it.

It was a storm of grief and guilt and rage. It was pain over loss and anger over abandonment and the fear of being alone and lost. It felt how he felt when the Doctor had forced him to leave Qhoya behind, when they'd grappled in the TARDIS and the Doctor wound up leaving him bleeding and dying on his mother's dining table. It felt how he felt when he had regained his memories and gone in search of home, only to find that Gallifrey and all the Time Lords were gone. It felt how he felt when he slid the knife into Kahlia's back and felt her twitching and fighting in his arms.

Harry shot from his bed to the wash basin, gasping for breath and blinking through the pain just to see the water below him hurriedly turning a deep red. His legs felt weak. His stomach rolled over. His skin lit up with golden light. For a terrifying moment, he thought he might be dying.

His knee gave out and he almost fell, but didn't. He felt something holding him, pulling him up. When he looked to his side, he could Kel gripping his arm, helping him back to his feet. His face was solid as a stone and his eyes were dull and far away. It was the face of a dead man, showing nothing—he couldn't see Kel in there at all.

"I'm sorry, Harold," Kel said quietly.

Harry's skin flashed again, threatening to regenerate, threatening to die. Kel helped him back to his bed and pushed a cloth to his face to catch the blood flow. Harry could see his hands had turned pink and even red in some areas, burned from the raw energy. Still, Kel didn't flinch or react to the pain. His face simply didn't move.

"What happened?" Harry gasped, his head still spinning and his mind starting to panic from the sight of so much blood. "What did you do?"

"I remembered," Kel answered. His voice was so quiet and still, Harry barely heard him. "I wasn't ready for it. I sincerely apologize. This must be painful for you."

The waves were still striking him, pounding into his fractured mind like battering ram, breaking him. He heard someone knock on the door and a voice call through it, but all he could focus on was the pain in his head and the overwhelming feeling of an old and insidious rot, eating him from the inside.

"Harry is unwell," Kel called to whomever was at the door. "I have it under control, thank you."

It didn't feel under control. It felt like the world was spinning too fast and that gravity was crushing him, pulling him apart. He tried to find a way through the pain but all his mind found instead was Kahlia and Qhoya and the Doctor and his father and his mother and his homeworld—how much he had loved and hated them all.

There was a sound he didn't recognize and a strange, rough feeling on his skin. He realized that Kel was using a sheet of paper to apply his cream to his skin, slathering on a generous amount. The cream began to help with the physical pain almost immediately, but the rest took a little longer. Harry felt the storm of feelings getting quieter and smaller, somehow being crushed down and forced back.

After a moment, he started to feel calm again. His skin didn't flash anymore and he could breathe.

"Can you hold this?" Kel put his hand on the cloth, pushing a little bit to show him that he wanted him to apply pressure. Harry nodded and gripped the cloth tight. "I'll be right back."

Harry waited and tried to calm his thumping hearts. The blood was slowing down and would surely stop soon. He'd be fine with some rest. It had only happened because he'd made a powerful telepathic connection without bracing for it and not because he was dying or anything quite so dramatic. He closed his eyes and told himself over and over that he'd be fine.

His mind started to wander away then, waving away the pain and the stench of blood as unimportant. There so many nicer things to think about. Harry thought of his garden at home, a symbol of the life he'd chosen and built for himself, lovingly and carefully tended each day. He could feel the warm sun on his neck, but the heat wasn't too much to bother him and the breeze was cool. He could hear Ganbri laughing, running around in the yard with J.J. and Annie. The three of them were brandishing sticks as though they were swords, teamed up like the three musketeers against the Doctor, who seemed to be taking the game very seriously and spewing out line after line of dramatic dialogue.

"I don't know how he has the energy for it," Jack said with a tired sounding sigh.

"Because he's just a big kid himself," Donna answered quickly.

The two of them were sitting at the little bistro table, just a few feet away from him. Harry could see his own drink on the table with theirs, cold and beaded with drops of condensation, waiting for him to finish his pruning and return.

"Works for me. He tires out the kids, they have a day full of fun, we get to sit back and drink," Jack said happily. "I think we can say that we're pretty awesome at this parenting thing."

"Wizard," Donna agreed, and they clinked their glasses together.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes that Harry noticed he'd been given something else. Kel had placed a stone in his hand with the cloth. It was small and grey and didn't look particularly special—one of the ones he often saw Kel holding in the evening.

Kel was standing next to the fire, holding a pot over it. Harry hadn't even heard him come back in. His face was still blank and there were snowflakes on his shoulders, but Harry could still feel the sun on his neck and the leaves brushing his hands. Every time his body tried to draw attention to the pain that threatened to split his skull, his mind would disregard it and simply wonder back to his garden, listening to the kids laughing and the Doctor's silly character voices and Jack and Donna chuckling together.

"Oh, just leave it, Harry," he could hear Donna saying. "Come have a drink with us already. You're making us look bad."

Kel poured a little steaming water from the pot into a cup and brought both of them to his bedside. Harry laid still and decided to let his mind stay in his garden while Kel carefully cleaned him up, washing away the blood from his face and hands with warm water. A small part of Harry felt ashamed for not helping, not even bothering to hold his own arm up as Kel washed his wrist and forearm, but the other man didn't say or do anything to show that he found it irritating.

He noticed that Kel was careful not to touch the stone when he moved it to Harry's other hand. Instead, he carefully manipulated Harry's arms to make him pass the stone to the hand that had just been cleaned and then set back to work.

J.J. was leaping onto Jack's lap, making that little squeal he used to make when he was having fun but just getting to the borderline of being frightened. Jack laughed and gave him a couple of encouraging pats on the back while J.J.'s golden eyes turned back to the game to reassess.

"Want me to beat him for you?" Jack asked, picking up the stick that the boy had dropped.

J.J. hesitated. "No," he answered, taking the stick back and hopping back down. "I'm gonna get him!"

"That's my boy," Jack said with a smile, watching him run off.

Kel's hand was on the back of his shoulder now, pulling and encouraging his to roll on his side. When Harry did, he found that the cup was being held up for him.

"This will help."

Harry took a cautious sip. It was just warm water with some herbs and what looked like a small chunk of bark put in it. He might have been able to identify them but the smells from his garden seemed to be interfering. Kel tipped the cup up more and Harry decided to cooperate and take a big gulp.

"What is this?" Harry finally asked, opening his hand to reveal the stone. "Why isn't it hurting me?"

"It's not telepathy," Kel answered. It was strange to see him speak—to watch his mouth move at all when his eyes were so empty. It was the first time Harry's had really thought it looked like a corpse speaking to him. "Just hold onto it while it lasts, and try not to think or you might make it change. Try to sleep if you can."

The memory of his garden and the children playing were tempting enough that he didn't argue. It was nice to feel like he was back there for a while. He could think of the Doctor sitting beside him, short of breath and simply glowing with joy when he finally came to sit down. They sipped their drinks and chatted and the children kept playing. The Doctor was touching his face and sliding his fingers down his neck, moving a little closer, seeming to not care that there were other people about. Harry thought it was odd, quite certain that that hadn't happened in real life, and he puzzled over it for a moment before he realized that it was Kel's hands cleaning him, somehow interfering with the memory.

After a few more strange changes, Harry realized that the stone was changing or running out, or whatever it was that Kel implied would happen to it. By the time he decided he would let it go, Kel had finished his work and left his bedside. There was no trace left in the room of blood or anything that had been used to clean it.

Kel was standing by the window again, looking out at the blizzard. His face and body were as still as a statue, completely unmoving to the point of being unsettling.

Harry placed the stone on the table beside him. The gentle sound of it touching the wood was enough to make Kel glance back. Harry had expected to feel some residual waves of the emotional storm that had been unleashed earlier, convinced that he would start to feel it again once he let go of the stone. But there was nothing.

The room was as still and quiet as the body by the window.

It seemed so unnatural to Harry. He felt like he'd just witnessed a tornado tear apart a town, only for each house and car and mailbox to fall gently back in their usual places, completely unharmed. He felt like he was standing in the street, without so much as a whisper of wind, looking for any sign that the disaster that he'd just witnessed had truly happened, and finding nothing.

Nothing but the Smiling Man.

Harry stared into those lifeless eyes and couldn't help but ask, "How do you do that?"

Kel turned his eyes back to the snow, that eerie smile of his unmoving.

"Practice."


	36. Chapter 36: James

James had expected to sleep for a couple of hours, wake up, and finally be able to get a decent amount of work done. With the remnants of Torchwood's team, their technology, a relatively safe place to bunker down for a while, and his newly invigorated lungs, he thought that he would wake to what felt like a new and better day. Instead, he slept for thirteen hours, as sick, fragile, and exhausted humans do, and woke to a dead body and a monster.

Celeste had stationed herself near his quarters so that she would know when he woke up. She didn't tell him about what had happened at first. Instead, she herded him to the kitchen and insisted that he eat. When he dug out some bread and jam, she rolled her eyes and told him to sit the fuck down.

Part of James was embarrassed to be sitting at the table, waiting for someone to make him breakfast because he apparently couldn't be trusted to do it himself. He tried to convince himself that it was somehow helpful to Celeste—comforting or distracting—except he could tell that the maternal behaviour wasn't natural to her and she had plenty of work to do without cooking him eggs.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I do appreciate your help."

"You and Rose have been fighting this fucking thing and saving our asses by yourselves without us even knowing about it," Celeste answered without looking up. "Least I can do is make you some breakfast."

Rose would like her, he decided quickly. It might take some time considering that Celeste didn't seem to talk much, but Rose would learn to like her eventually.

"How long have you worked for Torchwood?"

Celeste glanced over her shoulder at him. James had figured that she probably wasn't one for small talk but there was just something too awkward about sitting there silently.

"Seven years," she answered.

"And that man, Doug, he—"

"He's my brother."

"Oh! Nice," James tried to sound like that was more interesting news than it really was. "It must be nice being able to work together. The hardest part about having a job like this is that you can't share your experiences."

"I suppose."

"Plus, you know you've always got someone to look out for—" He cut himself off when she shot him another look and quickly changed his wording. "Nice for him to know there's always someone to look out for him."

"We all look out for each other," Celeste answered simply. "We're a team."

"Yes, of course. I just meant that, you know, there's something a little more fun about having a sibling on the team, isn't it?"

"Not on days like today."

"Of course," James answered quickly. Doug was one of the ones who went missing. Stupid. "Sorry."

Celeste made him nervous. He couldn't quite put his finger on exactly what it was, but he felt like a child sitting there, trapped alone with a stressed out adult and not knowing how to behave. He stayed silent as he watched her scoop eggs out onto a plate and wished that he could have seen Doug interact with her more, to get an idea of how to do it.

Celeste put the plate down in front of him, asked "Tea?", and then turned to put the kettle on before he answered. It was then, while he quietly ate his eggs and Celeste waited silently for the kettle to boil, that he realized something was wrong. The look on her face, her rigid body, her breathing—she was working up courage for something. She had brought him in here to keep him isolated and was now trying to convince herself to say something.

He didn't want to ask, but he had to. "Did . . . something happen?"

Celeste made an odd sound, somewhere between a snort and a grim chuckle. "A lot of things have happened."

"I know, but . . ." He just wanted to stop talking. If he didn't ask her, then she might not tell him, and he could just eat eggs and drink tea and pretend that things hadn't gotten any worse. "Something happened while I was sleeping."

Celeste took a deep breath and tapped her fingers on the counter top a couple of times, no doubt going through the same series of thoughts that he had just been. If they didn't talk about it, could they pretend it didn't happen?

"Declan died," she said finally. "He was infected. He attacked Edmund and Jack and now he's dead."

James had to think for a moment before he could remember who Declan was. He tried not to feel bad about it and reminded himself that he barely knew these people, but it still felt wrong somehow that the man's face didn't immediately spring to mind.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," he answered quietly. "He seemed like—"

"You didn't know him. It's fine," Celeste cut him off. "He was a good man and a hard worker and he didn't deserve to die like he did." She paused for a long time, taking the kettle off the stove and filling a teapot. "The thing is that we're falling apart at the seams. This thing didn't just hit us hard, it hit us fucking _smart_. Everyone is just in a daze and nothing's getting done. We don't even know where to start. We're fucking drowning in this." She turned and looked at him square in the eye then. "You've been fighting this thing for a while now. What did you do, where you're from? How did your team handle it?"

Now it was his turn to consider lying or staying silent—pretending that it was okay when it wasn't.

But Celeste was smarter than that.

A dark look came over her eyes. "Everyone?"

"Not everyone," he answered quickly. "Once we left, it followed us, and it left the others behind." He quickly looked away and added in a near whisper, "I think."

She nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and then turned her attention back to the tea. She placed the kettle on the table and busied herself with collecting cups and sugar and whatever else they might need. James ate a few more spoonfuls of egg, suddenly acutely aware that it was entirely possible that it would be his last meal.

He'd tried not too think too much about home or the people they'd left behind—the bodies. One by one, members of Torchwood had become infected and attacked one another. One by one, they died, either murdered by their friends or drained of life and discarded like old toys. Their Torchwood was much different than the one here. It was much bigger and more organized with several divisions—the kind of team that Jack clearly aspired to from the size of their facility—which only meant that there were more potential targets. James's crew of eighty-four had been whittled down to only twelve in little more than a week. Jack's crew had gone from nine to two in only a few hours.

"So your sister is here."

Celeste's voice drew him out of his thoughts. He had completely forgotten that he had food in his mouth until then. His eyebrows moved together and he quickly swallowed.

"Annie came back?" he asked, feeling a little glimmer of hope.

Celeste shook her head. "The other one."

It took a few seconds to sink in before he realized who she meant. "Jenny?"

She nodded. "She's eager to meet you. She'll fuss, mind you, so you'd best finish that so that you can tell her you ate."

That pleased him, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Listen, I want to tell you something."

James's eyes snapped up and he stared at her curiously, not entirely sure that he'd heard correctly. "Yes?" he asked slowly.

"You have a lot of people to save, I get it," Celeste muttered, crossing her arms over. "And there are always priorities. There's Rose and you have family in this. Ganbri is your brother. Annie is your sister. Professor Mott is . . . whatever the fuck you guys decided on. It's easy to lose sight of the everyone else involved. It's easy to make mistakes and lose one or two of the others, like Declan."

He could feel the rest of what she had to say coming, and it filled him with a sense of dread. "Celeste, I promise you—"

"Shut the fuck up for a second and let me finish." Her words were harsh but her voice was surprisingly gentle. This was hard for her, he realized. She was not used to asking for help. She was not used to needing it.

James stayed quiet and nodded to signal that she should continue.

"They aren't telling people anything—there's been so much shit going on—but Jenny and my brother have been spending a lot of time together. Things changed. Douglas has never had a lot of girlfriends and the way he talks about her. . ." She paused again, eyes searching the empty wall across from her. "It's just that, if this had happened later, maybe Doug would have ended up being your family too . . . I don't want him to be one of the 'other people' in your mind just because this happened too early."

The weight on his shoulders seemed to get a little heavier and he tried not to slump beneath it. Instead, he smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean I have to get you a Christmas present?" he asked. "Does this mean you're going to get _me_ a Christmas present?"

Celeste scoffed and tossed the tea towel at his face.

"How do we decide who gets Doug on Christmas?" he continued, earning a slight hint of a smile as she looked for something else to toss at him. He obliged by throwing the tea towel back. "Would it be like a shared custody thing where we alternate holidays? Do we play a game of quarters over it or do we just be civil and everyone gets together at once?"

The tea towel came hurtling back towards him, whipping him in the face. "Fuck off," Celeste said, but there was amusement in her voice. For a moment, at least, he'd made her smile.

He made sure to finish everything on his plate before heading out. If anyone asked, he could truthfully say that he was fully rested and fed. He didn't feel like it was true, but at least he could say it.

The facility was eerie in its silence. The hints of life left behind by the missing team seemed to put a chill in the air, reminding him of their absence. It suddenly occurred to him that there was a morgue somewhere in the building, that Declan's body was inside it, and that he had no idea where it was. The last time he walked down this hall, Declan was a man who had showed an impressive ability to organize and had made James feel more welcome and comfortable than he had felt anywhere in a very long time. Now he was just a body. Not even a person—a thing that needed to be stored until it could be handled properly. James tried to remember if he'd ever properly said thank you for the room.

He found Jenny in a room that didn't look like it belonged in a facility like Torchwood. The presence of a work station and a desk told him that it was a lab, but it looked more like a greenhouse and the computers seemed quite out of place. One wall seemed to be made entirely of foliage, with long, healthy fern leaves reaching out a couple of feet from their resting places. There was a raised garden table in the center, growing some kind of twisting vine covered in flowers beautiful and colourful enough that every instinct he had told him not to touch them. The rest of the room was dotted with other plants, some pots even seeming to compete with each other over the limited space, and gardening equipment was stashed anywhere that they wouldn't get in the way.

Jenny was leaned back in an office chair, feet crossed and resting upon the table of toxic looking flowers, a pile of papers in her hands.

She looked just as strong and beautiful as he remembered. He felt a little swell of paternal pride for just a second before remembered that she wasn't his daughter. Still, he could be proud, couldn't he? They still shared the same genetic material at least.

"Find anything interesting?" he asked. Her eyes barely flickered in his direction before moving back to the paper and she sighed.

"Just looking over Kelevra's stuff, trying to see if his research on Edmund dug up anything useful," she answered in an almost bored tone. "His notes are so bizarre though—like reading someone's diary. Do you know that he keeps track of _everything_ that _everyone_ does? He even writes down what _he_ does. Look at this! 'Cut left forearm on thorns. Wound cleansed and left free to air. Monitor for infection.' Like he's his own bloody patient or something. 'Lost my coffee again'. _Lost his coffee_! Even writes down his texts . . ."

Jenny's voice trailed off as she flipped past another page, sighing again. James felt a little bit disappointed, and then felt a bit foolish for feeling disappointed. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, really, but with Ganbri's wide-eyed wonder and Annie's excited bouncing around, he had thought meeting him might have been a little more exciting for Jenny. Perhaps the thought of siblings just wasn't as exciting for her.

"Lots of this too: 'Interference successful'. What the hell do you think that means?" Jenny started up again. "He does weird things like locking doors or shutting off power to places and then he'll write something like interference successful or failed. I saw one that said 'Interference irrelevant'. How is that different from unsuccessful? He writes about you too, you know."

He blinked, processing her words. Something about it sounded too familiar. Looking around the room, he realized something about the room was a little familiar too.

"Castor," he muttered, mostly to himself.

How had he not recognized him?

"Oh my God!" Jenny's shouting quickly snapped him out of the thought. "I'm going on like an idiot. Why didn't you say something!" She moved quickly as she spoke, jumping to her feet and dropping the papers into her chair. "I thought you were my dad!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug that seemed too strong for a woman of such a small size.

He wasn't sure if it was because he had memories of Jenny or if it was because he was just getting used to such encounters, but he hugged her back instead of nervously freezing and standing there like a board. She held onto him or a long time, holding him tightly and even patting his back a little, as though they hadn't seen each other for years instead of as though they were meeting for the first time.

When she finally let go, it felt strange to introduce himself, but it seemed to be the only sensible thing to do. "I'm, uh," he cleared his throat and awkwardly held out his hand. "I'm James."

Jenny looked down at his hand and smiled as though she found it very amusing. "Nice to meet you, James," she said, taking his hand and giving it a hearty shake. "I'm Jenny." She dropped her voice to a whisper, like she was telling a secret. "Your big sister."

"I don't know about that," he answered, half smiling as he gestured to his worn and weathered face. "Little sister, I should think."

"I was born first," Jenny answered quickly.

"I done think the chronology of our births really matters when everyone is jumping through time regularly. Technically, you haven't been born at all yet."

He hadn't meant it to be an actual point in a debate but the way Jenny raised an eyebrow and immediately crossed her arms told him that the comment wouldn't go unchallenged. "How old are you?"

Damn it.

"Old enough."

"I don't think so. You look older than Dad, but not _that_ much older. You must only be a teenager!"

James cleared his throat again and avoided eye contact. "No," he answered quietly.

" _No_ ," Jenny repeated back, almost laughing. "Double digits at least?"

"Technically, I was in a jar for several years before the rest of me grew out so—"

" _So_ doesn't count," Jenny interrupted with a chuckle. "Well, considering that I'm at least old enough to drink and that you technically need adult supervision for most activities, I think we can confidently say that you're the baby in the family. Wrinkles and all." She smiled at him warmly and then, without warning, asked, "Who's Castor?"

It took James a second or two to respond, thrown off by the suddenness of the question. "He was my friend," he answered slowly, gesturing around the room. "This looks like one of his rooms. Sounds a bit like his note-taking too."

"You think he's the same man?"

"Might be." James picked up the stack of papers and began to flip through them. "He'd do funny little things around headquarters all the time—tricking people or guiding them to do things. 'Interference successful' is the sort of thing he'd write." He flipped through the pages, finding the most recent one.

 _Stress levels and aggression between subjects escalated. Co-operation unlikely. Comments regarding familial connections made. Violent response directed at self. Interference successful._

"Damn it," he sighed.

It was definitely him.

Jenny eyed him curiously. "What?"

"I hit him," James answered with a sigh. "He was trying to annoy us so that we'd stop fighting with each other and I hit him. I didn't know who he was."

"You'd think you would have noticed," Jenny muttered, curiously looking over his shoulder. "You talked to him, right?"

"Different face. Different name." James lowered the papers and rubbed at his face, taking a deep breath. He was trying to be happy about this, or at least amused. He was trying to remember the smell of Castor's gardens and the sound of scratching from his incessant note taking. He was trying to remember the smooth feel of mnemist stones in his hands and the taste of terrible shortbread.

Instead, all he could think of was the way his lungs and the muscles in his legs had burned and the sound of Castor's voice calling to him when he looked back.

"Still," Jenny continued. "The fact that Torchwood's staff doctor is a Zumecki didn't tip you off?"

"We have dozens of Zumecki working for Torchwood where I'm from. Seeing one here didn't seem unusual. He doesn't work as a doctor either."

 _Didn't_.

Suddenly he felt tired. The brief moment of elation at meeting Jenny and of finding a friend across the Void was already buried beneath a mountain of exhaustion that had nothing to do with how much he had slept.

This world was not his own.

Jenny was watching him carefully, absorbing information. She smiled sadly when she saw him notice and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"Did you get to say goodbye?"

He ignored the memory of the way the words were shouted at him and instead just tried to remember their meaning, and he managed to smile a little bit. "He said he would watch me with pride." Jenny said nothing and he could tell from the way her head tilted slightly that she didn't understand. "It's a Zumecki thing," he added with a shrug. "It was close enough anyway."

He started flipping through the pages again, trying to pull himself away from the memory. It must have been months ago now, maybe even a year, but it was the first time he'd really allowed himself to think about it. He hadn't let himself wonder if Po had survived or if the Bad Wolf had returned there before chasing them through the Void. What if there was no one left?

Suddenly, those forbidden thoughts were catching up to him and he tried to push them back by reading through Kelevra's notes. Most of it was unimportant. Some of it was complete nonsense. Certain parts made it look like he had the memory of a goldfish and plenty of sentences were scratched out mid-thought. Castor was never so disorganized and was definitely not forgetful. Perhaps not having Po around had made him that way. Why were things _so_ different here?

"Your doctor seemed to be under the impression that the team has been affecting Edmund almost as much as Edmund has been affecting the team."

Jenny shrugged. "I don't know much about it. They call me in for missions sometimes but Edmund has been more of a research project. Turns out, they tell me even less than I thought they did." There was a tone of bitterness to her voice.

"It must have been a shock," he said simply.

"To find out that my brother and most of my friends are missing, one my friends had died, and that the universe might be ending? Yeah." She sighed and rolled her shoulders, visibly trying to stop herself from getting worked up. "Have you seen Dad yet?"

A nauseating tingle ran through his body at the word 'Dad', but he did his best to ignore it. "We, um, don't care much for each other's company."

"I imagine not. Most people wouldn't like to meet themselves, Dad most of all, and you have the misfortune of being a spitting image. Odd, considering you have less of his DNA than I do, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "Could be that you look like his next regeneration. You might get your turn yet."

"I hadn't thought of that." She paused for a moment, thinking before raising his eyebrows. "Not sure how Harry would like that."

James shuddered. "Let's not even go there."

Jenny suddenly stood up straight. "Hey, if you've got Dad's memories, does that mean you know what that big animal thing is?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Big animal?"

"It's pretty scary actually," Jenny answered with a quick nod. "He doesn't like to talk about it, but he brings it out from time to time. Harry hates it. Everyone just calls it the Beast."

James had been walking too quickly, he knew. He felt weak and out of breath and his lungs were starting to ache from the effort, but he couldn't help trying to go too fast. When Jenny told him that the Beast was in Torchwood, half of him didn't believe it while the other half thought he should have seen it coming and he couldn't help but move faster than he should.

"You bastard, how could you? What do you think you're doing?"

The Doctor didn't even turn to look at him. He was standing at a desk, working on a computer, with the massive dark monster resting behind him, and he didn't even flinch.

"I'm minding my own business well away from you, James," the Doctor answered in an almost bored tone. "I suggest you do the same."

"Where's Ghanje?"

The Beast turned its head and looked right at him. He frowned back at it. It shouldn't be able to see him or properly perceive his location—he was angry, not afraid.

"Ghanje's gone."

"Gone or dead?" he spat the words. He wanted them to feel like an insult—an accusation even. No one at Torchwood had been in the Death Forests. They had no idea what the presence of this thing meant. Probably not even Harry knew.

But James did.

"I've been assuming dead."

"And that's just okay with you?"

"Of course not," the Doctor answered, his tone far too casual for James's liking. "If I could bring him back now, I would."

"He told you what would happen if you ever let that thing out."

"Ghanje made a decision. I'm not responsible for his choice."

"You made an oath, and you are responsible for whatever that thing does while it's in your charge. How can you bring it here? These people have no idea what that is or what it can do. How can you put them in that kind of danger? How can you put your children—"

"You are _not_ my child," the Doctor cut him off sharply.

It was the last thing he would have ever expected, but those words felt like a slap. It was something he would say himself—he _wasn't_ the Doctor's child—yet, somehow, they hit him sharply.

"I meant Jenny," he said, his lungs suddenly aching with the strain to breathe. "And Ganbri, when he gets back."

The Doctor's eyes stayed firmly on his computer, though they seemed to be staring through it rather than seeing it. "I'll protect them. I _have_ protected them."

The Beast was still looking at him—staring at him directly and watching his movement despite nearly being blind. He looked over at the Doctor again, his eyes hard and unfocused, and realized that it wasn't the Beast watching him after all.

This wasn't his world.

This was the world he was born into, the world where the majority of his memories came from, but it still felt alien. He thought he would understand it. He thought, with nine hundred years of experience in his head, that he would know what to expect and how to navigate it. Somehow, in just a few short decades, this universe had evolved into something strange and surreal.

Whatever he thought of the Doctor and of what the things he might do, waking the Beast of Junicar was never an option he had thought would become a reality. That creature represented nothing but hunger and fear and death. He'd never been able to find out what it was or where it came from—all he really knew was that it had no place among people. Until he found a place where it belonged, the Doctor had sworn to keep it from causing harm to anyone. Apparently, he had decided that the place where it belonged was at his side and under his command. It was a nightmare come true.

James stepped closer to the Beast, noting the way its beady little eyes followed him.

"In my memories, I remember standing in the village and seeing it for the first time," he said quietly. "I remember not running, like everyone else was doing. I remember thinking: what's the worst that could happen?"

The Doctor still refused to move his head, eyes trained stubbornly on his computer, despite the fact that he was clearly not doing anything on it. The Beast watched him instead and, as he reached his hand out towards it, its skin began to slowly come to life with a golden shimmer.

"I remember seeing it again in the forest. Ghanje hid in the whispering trees, but I remember standing in a clearing and waiting for it. When it finally came, it couldn't see me. It wandered past, like I was nothing more than another tree, and I remember, so distinctly, how it felt."

He touched his hand to the Beast's muzzle, its skin glowing yellow and orange beneath his fingers. He'd always wondered what colour it would change for him. He had almost expected that it still wouldn't change.

The Doctor took in a breath deep enough for him to hear and the Beast did the same, then it stepped back away from him.

"You were never afraid of the Beast," James continued slowly, watching the monster retreat from him. "You were afraid of Junicar."

"Junicar wasn't real," the Doctor finally said, though his voice lacked the conviction it held moments before. "I looked. You know that. It was easier for the people to believe that a devil was controlling the Beast than to believe that they simply had bad luck. He was nothing more than a myth."

" _Was_ ," James agreed. "But we both know that you see time differently. And we both know that when Ghanje called you Junicar for the first time, even as you denied it, you knew that he was right. You could have shot this thing into a sun but you didn't. With all your good intentions and all your promises, you still knew that, one day, this would be why you kept it."

If Castor were in the room, he'd be proud. James could almost see him, standing there with his clipboard, smiling and listening. He tried to pretend that he was in his class, the only human determined to master a Zumecki art, clutching his little stone and listening to Castor's guidance.

 _Imagine facing your greatest fear—the moment of confrontation. Imagine being frozen and unable to escape and the only things in the world are you and that which you fear._

"And you were afraid of me," James said softly, turning his back on the Beast to look at the Doctor instead. "Someone who knew not only every choice you ever made but _why_ you made it, how you felt, and what you knew. I didn't exist yet but you always felt like you were being watched. Certain that, some day, you would find out that somebody _knew you_ and you'd have to look them in the eye."

 _Fight or flight kicks in, and it kicks in for a reason. Whatever that fear is, it is so terrifying and incites such a sense of doom that the only possible reactions are to run away or to lash out at it._

He remembered every word Castor had said. He remembered how easy it had been to put the words into practice, and the look on Castor's face when he picked up the stone. It had been his best work yet.

"You don't like me because I know you. You can't lie to me. You can't hide behind wit or deflection. I know the truth." He paused for a second, glancing back at the Beast to make sure it wasn't stirring. "And the truth is that a lot of the things you take the blame for aren't your fault. A lot of them are, but not everything. Sarrhea, Qhoya, your mother, the Master . . . they weren't your fault. I need you to know that so that you know I'm not just being stubborn or malicious when I tell you that, if you choose to use the Beast, then you are choosing to become Junicar, and any of the consequences of that _will_ be your fault. And I know you don't want that."

The silence was almost unbearable. For a long time, all that seemed to exist was his own laboured breathing. The Doctor didn't say a word and the Beast lay calm and still, its skin relaxed back to its mottled grey and black. It was the moment of confrontation—the moment of frozen silence when a choice needs to be made—and James didn't know what to expect.

The Doctor's head turned to the side, just enough that James must have barely registered in his peripheral vision. "You don't have any children, do you?"

James felt his heart sink down in his chest. "No."

"Then you don't know anything."


	37. Chapter 37: Kelevra

He clutched the small little piece of wood tightly, carefully tracing his fingers over the tiny scratch marks that spiraled over it. It was harder to read with his eyes, but human fingers were not really meant for reading his language either. It took him some time to work out what the words said.

His name was Kelevra Presley. He was pretending to be human and he spoke in English. The man in the bed was a Time Lord named Harold Mott and he needed caring for while recovering from an injury. The woman who owned the building was named Bridget Bishop and she was a friend.

 _Don't worry,_ the note finished. _It will come back._

It had been signed with the name from his birth, which meant that he must have written the note himself, or else it was someone he knew well. He could remember Bridget but he struggled to remember how to speak English. A few times, when Bridget came to check on him, she blinked at him curiously and stated that she had no idea what he was saying and, though he could have sworn he had been speaking English, it would turn out he was speaking in Hebrew. Luckily, Bridget didn't seem to mind.

He could almost remember Harry. There was something vaguely familiar about him and there were moments where it felt like the memory of him was rising up, right in front of his eyes, only to vanish before he got a proper look. It felt especially frustrating because he could quite easily remember Harry's son.

There was a soft knock at the door and Bridget came in. She was smiling when she peered around the door, but the smile vanished as soon as she saw the piece of wood in his hands.

"Have you forgotten again, love?"

His first instinct was to deny it, toss the wood aside and make some comment about being sure that things were in order, but he couldn't seem to make himself do it. Instead, with the feelings of being lost and confused seeming to become so much bigger in an instant, he gave a quick nod.

"It's not the first time today, is it?" he asked.

Bridget shook her head, closing the door behind her and quickly making her way to his side. "Don't let it worry you," she said, putting her arm around his shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze. "You'll be alright, you hear me? You're going to be just fine."

"How many times have I forgotten today?"

"It doesn't matter. You're speaking in English at least. That's an improvement."

"I need to know how many times."

Bridget looked at him unhappily and sighed. "Three, that I know of."

"And what time is it?"

She sighed again, hesitating in her answer. "It's almost noon."

It didn't used to be so bad, he was sure of it. He had been able to function day to day and had kept it a secret from almost everyone. That would be impossible now. Even ignoring the way it impacted his ability to communicate or go about his day, he could feel the anxiety over the situation starting to settle in and make itself at home. It was a constant feeling of the first day at school, or the first time trying to blend in with his host's species. Instead of focusing on what he needed to do, all he could think about was how inadequate and helpless he felt.

What if the memories didn't come back? What if he continued to forget and forget until there was nothing left of him but a clueless body relying on the kindness of strangers to survive? He looked at Bridget's face, smiling but with eyes that showed concern and sympathy, and realized that it seemed that had already happened.

"I don't know what to do."

Bridget's face changed a little, her eyes showing signs of pain. "You're going to go home," she answered eagerly. "And you're going to see a doctor and get this all sorted out. You'll be fine."

She didn't understand. A human wouldn't.

He traced his clumsy fingers over the scratches in the wood again, willing it to somehow feel familiar, grasping for any piece of memory he could find. It was just there, he could feel it hiding just barely past what he could perceive. It was infuriating.

The look in her eyes was lingering, growing even. What was he doing? _Put it away_ , he reminded himself and made his host stand up straight.

"Apologies. I have work to do."

Bridget left him without much fuss. She was never one to drag out something that ought to be simple—he quite liked that about her. He started with the things he knew and hoped that the rest would come back to him.

Harry had a low burning fever and appeared a little pale. Kel remembered the concerning amount of blood he lost and felt satisfied that that could account for his colour. He brewed some tea and melted a little snow near the fire. Harry barely stirred while Kel washed his face for him and, even when Kel tried to wake him, he seemed to only come half way back to the world. Kel could sense the pain he felt and watched the way the muscles in his face contracted as he sipped at his tea. He was hurting worse than he was letting on and, despite his cooperation, seemed to just want to go back to sleep more than anything.

The salve came next but Harry already seemed to be back asleep by the time Kel returned to his bedside with it. It would have been easier just to wake Harry and have him apply it himself, but Kel managed to do it by carefully using a cloth. While he rubbed it into Harry's skin, Harry's hand moved to gently rest on Kel's arm—an entirely absent-minded and familiar kind of touch.

Of course, he thought, he must be missing his husband. Perhaps he was even dreaming of him, craving to be home and safe and surrounded by the people he loved. Kel went in search of a prepared stone to offer whatever comfort he could. Despite appearing asleep, Harry's hand seemed to eagerly take it when it was handed to him.

He went to the wash basin to tend to his own wounds while Harry drifted off into a state of contentment. It wasn't until he had a cloth in hand, standing before the mirror, that he realized he had no wounds to tend. There was no split in his lip and any signs of bruising was gone. He undid a couple of the buttons on his shirt and pulled it aside, discovering that all of the small, painful scratches and scrapes across his shoulder and chest were gone without a trace.

It must have healed, he supposed. But, if it had healed, how much time had passed? The scratches weren't very deep and would have healed within a few days, but his lip would have taken much longer. There was nothing—not even a faint pink mark to show where it had once been. He wanted to find relief in discovering that his host was all in one piece but something about the discovery was deeply unsettling and he suddenly found that he didn't care to look in the mirror any longer.

It was starting to snow outside. It wouldn't be enough to cause any kind of problems for traveling but he frowned at it all the same. Unpleasant weather for unpleasant business. He kept reminding himself that it was necessary as he dressed for the cold. Hathorne had information that he needed, and if the man needed his ego stroked a little bit before giving it up, there were certainly worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Harry was beginning to stir by the time he was ready. He hadn't spoken yet, but Kel saw him open his eyes a little and look around the room. Kel considered finding some excuse to linger a while and see if Harry was well enough to get up. He even considered asking Harry directly if he would accompany him in case his memory started slipping again, but quickly decided against it. He had been on his own for most of his life and managed just fine; there was no point in getting spooked and wanting a companion now, especially if it meant putting Harry's health at risk.

"You need to rest," Kel said, uncertain if Harry was awake enough to even be listening. "Most of what you'll need is on the table so don't get up unless absolutely necessary. I should be back in a couple of hours."

Harry made a soft groan in response and Kel took that to mean he understood. Kel stopped to ask Bridget to check in on Harry while he was gone, and perhaps bring him some soup if she felt kind enough. She agreed and Kel could tell from the way she looked at him that she wanted to tell him not to go out alone, but she held her tongue. Kel wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to save his pride or if it was because she didn't think he would listen anyway, but he was thankful that she chose to stay quiet. He hated to tell her no.

He felt that pull again, like someone was gently tugging at his sleeve. He could ask Bridget to come with him, he realized. She would, if he asked, he knew that without a doubt. But she and Hathorne seemed to have a rather old and deep dislike for each other and he knew that her presence would simply cost him Hathorne's cooperation. Besides, someone needed to look after Harry.

The snow was light and there was no wind but he instinctively pulled his scarf a little tighter when he stepped out into the cold. Apparently, the grudge with Bridget ran so deep that Hathorne refused to even be seen near her tavern, so Kel trekked through the snow towards the village.

Within fifteen minutes he spotted Hathorne up the road, wrapped in an expensive looking coat smoking a pipe. The man grinned when he saw Kel and quickly began to stride towards him.

"Doctor," he called in greeting. "Not built for the cold, are you?"

Kel realized that he had his shoulders hunched up and visibly tensed, as if he were expecting a gust of wind to knock him over. "I'm not accustomed to quite so much snow." He forced his shoulders to relax and smiled.

Hathorne's grin spread a little more, apparently pleased. "Still smiling though."

"Of course," Kel answered. "I need to live up to my new name, don't I?"

"Suppose so." Hathorne dumped his pipe ashes into the snow and lifted his arm towards a fence post a little further on where two sturdy looking horses were tied. "Are you accustomed to riding horses?"

Kel maintained his smile and tried not to look worried. "I'm afraid not."

Hathorne chuckled in amusement. "The Smiling Man from the land of no snow and no horses. The tale of how you found yourself in Salem must be strange indeed."

"A rather simple story of not staying in one place," Kel answered with a shrug.

Hathorne didn't press for any answers. He seemed rather content to talk about unimportant things or to simply discuss the comings and goings of the village. Kel managed to mount the horse himself but must have looked unsure once he was up. Hathorne laughed at him and told him to simply hold onto the reigns and that the horse would follow his own. After only a few minutes though, Hathorne slowed his own horse and had Kel hand the reigns to him so that he could lead both horses and keep them side by side for conversation.

Hathorne seemed pleasant enough and he had gone through some trouble to set aside time for this little adventure. He hadn't asked for something more convenient or complained about spending the day in the cold. He had been a perfect gentleman so far and Kel could even appreciate that he would be considered handsome for a human, but he couldn't seem to get comfortable around him.

He kept thinking that Doug wouldn't have liked him. Doug liked everyone.

"You haven't heard anything in the tavern, have you?"

Kel's mind snapped back to the present moment and did his best to look sheepish. "Apologies," he said, scratching the back of his neck the way he often saw people do when they felt embarrassed. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

Hathorne didn't seem to mind. He simply nodded and repeated himself.

"People are saying that Giles Corey was taken by the spirit in the woods. We're not likely to get a true answer as long as that's what they think. I wondered if you'd heard anything at your lodgings?"

The image of blood splattered in the snow and Harry's shocked face came to mind.

"Not really," he answered with a shake of his head. "I've heard his name mentioned. I knew he was missing but I never paid much attention to the gossip."

"I don't blame you," Hathorne answered with a sigh. "It's wearisome, really, but can be useful in rare moments and finding the whereabouts of Mr. Corey is important enough that any gossip requires investigation."

"He must be well missed."

Hathorne shrugged his shoulders. "He has a family, yes, but the man's land is quite valuable. If he's dead, the church will want to investigate to determine what happens to his property. His sons have a lot to gain from his death."

"And if he's alive?"

"The church will want to know where he's been and why."

"The church seems terribly interested in Mr. Corey to be so concerned about his doings."

Hathorne smiled in a way that showed all his teeth and he answered with a tone that suggested he thought he was rather clever. "Should a man be found guilty of certain crimes, his property is forfeit to the church and, as I said, Mr. Corey's property is quite valuable. The church feels it is in the best interest of everyone to be sure it goes to the right hands."

Kel frowned and answered quietly, "I see."

Kel wondered what would happen if they found Mr. Corey's body buried in the woods. He hadn't thought about it much before. He had simply hoped that he and Harry would be long gone by the time they found any proof of Corey's death and he supposed, even then, that his murder would likely remain a mystery. He felt less sure about that now.

"Is there any reason to discredit the gossip?" Kel asked cautiously. "If people are being taken by some spirit in the woods, why not Mr. Corey?"

Hathorne looked at him with an expression full of amusement. "Are you pretending to be a fool or thinking that I am one?"

Kel smiled, giving himself a brief moment to think. "You don't believe the story then?"

"Of course not," Hathorne answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "These people will come up with a story for anything that frightens them—demons or spirits. Most like there's a weak spot on the riverside and people are slipping into the water or perhaps there's a robber clever enough not to let his victims leave."

"If you don't believe there's a spirit, then why did you agree to bring me here?"

"I can say I've done my duty to the people by searching for those missing or for whatever made them go missing." He grinned again, all teeth and confidence. "And it's a nice way to get away from prying eyes. I find it can be difficult to truly enjoy another's company when there are so many people watching."

Of course, that must be difficult. Kel tried to think of something sympathetic to say, or at least something to acknowledge the struggle that Hathorne must face, but the words didn't seem to come. He didn't really know what it was like but he tried to imagine seeing someone like Doctor Noble not being able to express any affection or love for his husband and it seemed like some kind of crime—cruel and sad. He didn't know how to pretend he understood that feeling, so he simply nodded and stayed quiet.

He spent most of the rest of the journey thinking about Mr. Corey. He smiled and nodded and gave half-hearted answers to Hathorne's musings, but his mind kept wandering out to the woods. On the other side of the river, not far into the trees, below several feet of snow and soil, Mr. Corey was waiting for someone to find him, or else for someone to dig him up and retrieve the precious packages he had been stuffed with. People were looking for a man—a husband and father—and, instead, they would find an incubator.

He knew he should feel bad about that. Harry, even with his ability to see the logic in Kel's decision, had been somewhat disturbed. Doug would likely be horrified. It was the kind of thing that Kel would never tell him. He was too kind to understand the reasoning, perhaps rightly so, and Kel wouldn't want Doug to see him any differently. Perhaps Nista would understand the logic, but he doubted that even he would see it the same way Kel did.

At first glance, what happened to Mr. Corey was cruel and tragic but, behind the veil of shock and disgust, there was something almost beautiful about it. The man was doomed to die slowly, painfully, and, worst of all, pointlessly. In half a heartbeat—the time it took for Kel to draw his gun and pull the trigger—his death became meaningful. He would play a large part in Kel and Harry's ability to get home. He would be reuniting a family. Reuniting friends. He might even be saving the universe by returning Harry to where he was needed. Any person that Harry or Kel managed to save in the days to come would be thanks to Mr. Corey—their children and their grandchildren and the generations that came after them. An entire future had been altered and grown in a way that was impossible to track or calculate, branching out and continuing, possibly forever. And everything that shifted in that moment had been captured in the image of a simple red splatter in snow.

He hoped that he didn't forget it.

His mind was still beneath the ground with Corey when he felt Hathorne's hand on his arm. "Do you need help getting down?"

He hadn't noticed that he had stopped or that Hathorne had dismounted and tied the horses to tree. Either that, or he had forgotten in a matter of seconds.

"No, thank you," he said quickly and began to get down on his own. Help might have actually been nice, as he was unsure of how to work his feet, but tried to do it on his own anyway.

"Your thoughts seemed to be elsewhere again."

"Apologies," Kel answered, pausing to make sure his feet landed on the ground. "The life of a doctor leaves little time for leisure, even when it comes to thinking."

"I understand." Hathorne smiled kindly and held an arm out towards the path. "I heard that your companion has fallen ill."

Kel tried not to sound or look annoyed. Even on a path, there tended to be muddy patches, roots, or dips the earth worn in by feet and wagon wheels. It was difficult to hold a conversation while walking over such uneven terrain. Apparently, Kel's lack of participation in the conversation so far had done nothing to deter Hathorne from continuing.

"I'm afraid so. A fever and a terrible headache. He should recover with a couple days worth of rest though."

"I suppose I had best keep you company until then."

Kel glanced at Hathorne and made himself smile. "If my work allows for it."

Hathorne laughed. "You work allows for you to go hunting after imaginary spirits."

"My work allows for me to investigate an area where multiple people have disappeared."

Hathorne's face fell a little. "And here I was hoping you found my company enjoyable."

Was he being offensive? Was he being off-putting? It wouldn't do to upset Hathorne. Offending him could be very problematic for the mission.

He smiled. "I will admit it is a pleasant side effect."

That earned a quick smile in return. Good. He'd have to be more careful of that. It seemed that Hathorne's ego was bruised a little more easily than Kel was used to.

"Now, there doesn't seem to be one particular spot that's been mentioned," Hathorne explained, turning his attention back to the path ahead of them. "Though all reports are from this stretch of the road—about a mile and a half, maybe two."

Everything was fine for a while. They walked along the road, chatting and glancing into the trees for anything unusual. Hathorne managed to slip in a couple of casual mention of future outings together, talking about what he would show him "next time". Kel knew that the only way he could really respond was to be agreeable. It didn't matter that he had no interest in hunting or that he already knew how pretty the riverside was in the summer—Hathorne didn't really want to know anyway.

Eventually, they left the road. Kel was beginning to think that they had a better chance of finding evidence of something in the trees rather than on the road, but Hathorne suggested it first. He picked his way carefully through the snow but, no matter how slowly he went, it felt like the tree roots were grabbing at him. He started to feel a little foolish, tripping and stumbling every few steps. He glanced over at Hathorne and saw that he seemed to be having no such difficulties.

Finally, his foot caught badly enough that he couldn't correct it. He felt his ankle twist painfully and he started to fall. He felt a strong grip on his arm and his body stopped before it hit the ground.

"Not built for the woods either, I see," Hathorne said with a tone of amusement as he pulled Kel back to his feet. "I'm beginning to think the only thing you _are_ built for is the pub."

"The pub is warm," Kel grumbled. "And there's plenty to drink."

His ankle was injured, but he was not sure how badly. Hathorne kept hold of his arm, offering support and balance, and then graciously swept the snow off of a fallen log.

"Is it broken?" he asked.

"I don't think so. I just need to see how it can move without any weight on it and we'll see."

Kel sat down on the log and straightened his leg out before him. He quickly realized that his boots didn't allow for enough movement for him to able to properly assess the damage. With a sigh and only a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward to try and remove it.

"Let me," Hathorne said quickly. "You don't want to make it worse."

Hathorne knelt before him, not seeming to mind the snow at all, and began to gently remove the boot.

"That's really not necessary," Kel said quietly and made a feeble attempt to pull his foot away.

"I disagree," Hathorne answered, and his hands did not let go.

Kel decided not to argue. What harm did it do to allow it? Hathorne was only trying to be kind. If it had been Doug helping him, he knew he wouldn't think twice about it. He rather enjoyed it when Doug fussed over him, in fact. It seemed almost petty to behave differently for Hathorne simply because they didn't know each other as well.

The boot came off without too much pain and Kel leaned forward for a look. He could see the beginnings of some swelling and perhaps even a little bruising but he'd certainly endured worse. He moved it around carefully, paying attention to any sensations coming from the nerves and tendons, working out where the problem was.

"Just a sprain," he announced after a moment. "Nothing to worry about." He eyed the snow around him for a moment, half trying to convince himself it wasn't needed and half telling himself to grow up. Eventually, he sighed and searched his pockets for a handkerchief. "Best ice it for a little while."

He scooped some snow off of the log beside him to bundle up in the handkerchief but, before he could lean forward to apply it, Hathorne quickly took it from his hands.

"Let me."

It was just kindness, Kel kept reminding himself. Hathorne was only being kind and showing concern. It was normal to expect and he shouldn't act like it was a bad thing.

"You're not used to someone taking care of you."

It was a statement, not a question. Kel wasn't sure how to respond to a statement like that, especially since it was true, so he chose not to speak. He didn't know how to do this sort of thing. If it were Harry, he would know exactly what to say—finding a way to diffuse the situation with charm and wit. Doug would embrace the awkwardness of it and find a way to admit he was uncomfortable in a way that was amusing or heartwarming. Kel was certain that anything he tried would come simply be perceived as rude.

So he just smiled.

Maybe Hathorne had already made up his mind about what he wanted to do and would have done it no matter what. Maybe Kel had accidentally sent some kind of message he hadn't intended to. Maybe it was as simple as the implied intimacy of the moment. Kel didn't know what sparked the action but, quite suddenly and too quickly for Kel to react, Hathorne moved forward and kissed him.

Harry told him that something like this wouldn't happen. It was a different time with different rules and men had to be much more cautious about their attractions to other men. Even if something were to happen, he had expected that he would have some sort of warning—a chance to stop it before it started. Now it was happening and he didn't know what to do. Even if he had wanted to reciprocate, he'd never experienced a human kiss before and he didn't really know how it was supposed to be done. He tried to remember anything he'd seen before—movies, the odd intimate moment between Annie and Kevin or Harry and the Doctor, a wedding he once stumbled across while walking through a park—but, somehow, thinking about those moments made this one seem worse and he simply wanted to get away from it more.

He thought he pulled himself back but the smile on Hathorne's face made him think that perhaps it was Hathorne who had put an end to it. He looked quite pleased. That was good, he supposed.

Kel cleared his throat and tried to avoid the urge to pull further back. Toppling off the log while trying to lean away probably wouldn't be very helpful when it came to that easily bruised ego he had been trying to cater to.

"That was unexpected." It was the only thing he could think to say.

He felt the pulses coming from Hathorne change—a sudden shift towards concern.

"Not too unexpected, I hope."

It was a different time, Kel reminded himself. A situation like this could be dangerous for a man if he'd made a mistake. He had to remember to smile.

"Unexpected so soon," Kel corrected. "I'm not really used to this sort of thing."

Hathorne grinned. "There's no one here," he said in a near whisper.

Kel felt a small surge of panic rising up inside him. "It's quite cold," he said quickly. "You know I don't like the cold." He leaned forward to push the bundle of snow away from his foot and grabbed his boot.

"Of course," Hathorne answered, although there was a little hesitation in his voice now. "And with an injury like that, best get you somewhere warm. My home isn't far."

"I really should return to my lodgings."

Hathorne was starting to frown now. "We would still be exploring the woods had you not been hurt. No one is expecting you for some time."

Kel finished tying his boot and pulled himself to his feet. He felt a small twinge of complaint from the ankle but it didn't seem like much. He could simply block the pain receptors if he had to.

"My companion is ill and I have other patients."

Hathorne reached out and grabbed his hand tightly. "Come now, Dr. Presley," he said with a smile. "A short visit won't hurt."

Kel hesitated, thinking. Was he making a mistake? Hathorne's forward behaviour had startled him so perhaps he hadn't really thought this through. It was only a kiss, after all. There was nothing really wrong with a kiss, was there? And what would he do if Kel walked away from him?

Hathorne's eyes were watching him carefully, his hand still holding on tightly. He moved forward again, this time bringing up his other hand to Kel's face, touching his cheek when he kissed him. Kel tried not to recoil, reminding himself that it was only a kiss and yet somehow finding himself unable to stand still and allow it. He stepped back. Hathorne stepped with him, holding onto him, kissing him more fiercely than before.

Kel tried to step away again and suddenly Hathorne changed from moving with him to pushing him. His back hit a tree hard enough to knock some of the air from his lungs. He was starting to panic and he put his hands up to Hathorne's chest to gently try to separate them, but Hathorne simply pushed harder, pinning his body against the tree. Kel realized that the problem was _not_ that Hathorne didn't understand.

Kel braced his back against the tree and shoved hard, forcing Hathorne away. The other man stumbled backwards in the snow, his face changing instantly to an expression that was so ugly it made the man almost unrecognizable.

"How dare you?" Kel barked at him.

Hathorne responded with a fist. The punch landed right on his mouth, nearly knocking him over and slicing his lips on his teeth. Before Kel was able to recover, Hathorne charged forward, shoving his body into Kel's and sending him sprawling. He slammed into the tree the other way around this time, the bark scraping into the skin on his chest and neck, creating dozens of tiny cuts as he fell.

Kel opened his eyes and saw the punch that cut his lip had send a small spray of blood onto the ground and suddenly he was looking at his own simple red splatter in the snow.

How had he killed Mr. Corey?

Kel began frantically searching his coat pockets for his gun. He must have brought a gun. He _always_ had a gun. Of all the things to forget, he couldn't believe that he would forget his only line of defense. He felt Hathorne grab the back of his collar just as his hand closed around cold metal in his pocket. He looked up, prepared to turn and fire, when his eyes found a surprise instead.

Hathorne must have seen it too. He'd frozen, completely unmoving with his hand still gripping Kel's collar.

"What is this!?" Hathorne asked angrily, as if he thought Kel had something to do with it.

Gun in his hand and blood in his mouth, Kel forgot everything except what was right in front of him. "I don't know."

It made no sense. What was it doing all the way out here? There was no snow built up on it at all, but the snow around it was smooth and undisturbed. There was a dragging trail in the snow behind it, but no tracks of any kind to show who or what might have dragged it.

A stone statue of an angel stood there in the snow, impossibly, where it had certainly not been a few moments before.

The mystery of it didn't seem to be as interesting to Hathorne, who recovered within a few seconds and roughly pulled at Kel's collar. Kel was yanked backwards into the snow and was scrambling again to find his gun when Hathorne suddenly let go with a surprised yelp.

Kel looked up again and nearly yelped himself. The statue had moved. In the split second that their resumed scuffle had lasted, the angel had somehow come several feet closer and it had changed positions. It had been covering its face with its hands before, but now it had its hands slightly lowered, revealing its face.

Kel tried to calm his host's pounding heart and focus, feeling for the tiny pulses of electric current in the air. It was there—faint and barely readable, but there.

It was alive.

Kel realized that this might be his only chance to get away—that red splatter in the snow lingering in his mind. Hathorne didn't stop him when he scrambled to his feet, nor did he make any attempt to protest until Kel was beyond the reach of his arm.

Hathorne started to say something but the beginning of a word abruptly turned to a startled yell. Kel looked back over his shoulder and saw that the angel had moved again. Its face had turned to a snarl, revealing vicious looking teeth, and its hands were reaching out, looking like it had tried to grab Hathorne by the throat and stopping just a few inches short.

Kel kept moving. Hathorne started shouting at him, asking him where he was going and telling him to come back. Kel chose not to answer and silently hoped that the strange stone creature would vanish Hathorne from the world like it had so many others.

Of course, he would never be that lucky. Kel only just made it back to the road when Hathorne suddenly rushed past him. He was walking backwards and didn't say a word. As soon as he had both feet on the solid road, Hathorne turned and ran.

Kel immediately turned around and spotted the angel in the trees, its hands and wings raised in an aggressive stance and its teeth bared. Hathorne must have been onto something if he made it to the road without the creature getting to him, so Kel began to walk backwards. The angel didn't so much as twitch until a tree temporarily blocked it from view. In less than a second, it had moved several feet. Kel blinked, and it moved several more.

Hathorne was long gone by now, probably half way back to the horses, and Kel doubted that he had any intention of returning to help or leaving one of the horses behind. That was fine. Kel wasn't used to anyone taking care of him. He was used to surviving on his own.

He turned off his host's pain receptors, blocking out the pain from his various injuries, and kept walking. He wouldn't allow his host to properly blink, closing only one eye at a time on occasion, to avoid causing damage. The angel managed to creep closer every time a tree got between them, but it would have to come onto the open road if it wanted to get to him and there would be nothing to hide it from view then. Kel could walk backwards on an injured ankle, in the cold, not blinking until he made it all the way back to Bridget's tavern if he had to.

However long it took, Kel knew he would get out of those woods alive and John Hathorne would regret every drop of blood that touched the snow.


	38. Chapter 38: Ganbri

The Academy seemed more like a temple than a school. Ganbri couldn't help but stare up at it with a sense of awe as they passed through the massive gates. It was so tall that he wasn't sure he could truly see the top and, the closer he got, the more detail he could see in the endless carvings and paint. It was a work of art in itself.

The soldiers around him seemed to be buzzing with some sort of excitement, but he doubted it was the same. For Nista, it probably felt like stumbled upon something that he wasn't worthy enough to see, and that he had been granted some kind of privilege. For himself, it like seeing a legend in the flesh—something surreal that didn't seem to belong in the real world. To the Called Upon, however, he suspected that this was nothing more than an esteemed prize. The Academy was built like a fortress and would surely serve them better than the manor they were currently housed in.

Behind the gates, Ganbri saw open areas of red grass, tables, and areas with strange instruments or carvings in the ground. None of it looked like weapons or defenses. It didn't look anything like a military base. It didn't even look like people lived there. He stretched to look and saw Nista even get up on his tip-toes, trying to see further down the yard, but saw nothing to hint that anyone had set foot in the space for a long time.

The doors to the massive building stood open as they approached. Ganbri hadn't thought to look for them when they first entered the gates, but he felt confident that he would have noticed if the doors had moved. The thought that they were already just sitting open was almost more unsettling than the empty yards.

"Where are the soldiers?" Nista whispered. "Where are the guards?"

Ganbri's eyes couldn't seem to look away from the open doorway before them. "Maybe they're just staying out of sight."

"No."

He was right, of course. The Master's soldiers weren't looking for anyone. They were being cautious and scanning the area with their eyes, but they weren't looking in the high spots or corners, where you would expect an enemy to be hiding. They were worried, but they weren't looking for people.

"Traps?" Nista suggested, trying to follow the soldiers' eyes.

Traps they'd already walked into. Ganbri saw the Master's eyes flick down to the floor a couple of times, a calm but calculating look on his face. Ganbri started looking for mismatched stones in the floor or any signs of hidden technology, It took him a moment or two to notice that some of the soldier's had two shadows.

He nudged Nista with his elbow and pointed his chin at the floor. Nista spotted the extra shadow almost immediately and his eyes took on a dark look. They'd grown up around Boris and seen what he could do. They both knew that, if they were seen as a problem, their entire group could be reduced to nothing but armour and bones in a matter of seconds.

No words were spoken and Ganbri didn't even hear a whisper of thought drift through the air, but he knew his father's face, even if it looked different here. There was a discussion happening, even if no one else could hear it. If Ganbri had to guess from what he knew of the group, it seemed likely that the Master, Tassiel, and Jinnar were planning their next move together while the soldiers waited patiently.

Finally, the orders came and the lack of echo proved that it was only in his head. Everyone was to stay together, in a close formation, and follow the Master. No one was to fire unless specifically instructed to do so. There was no mention of the shadows at their feet or of any other potential enemies.

Ganbri struggled to focus as they moved throughout the Academy. It felt like finding the city of Camelot and being expected to just pass through. This was the building where his fathers learned everything they knew about Gallifrey and being a Time Lord, and their mothers and fathers before them. Ganbri tried to imagine how many generations of his family had walked down this very hall over the millennia and found himself making his mind reach out for any traces left of them.

At first, he thought that the ancient building had somehow escaped the ravages of the war because there was little evidence of damage. Everything was intact and untouched. It seemed miraculous until he started to see the details. The ceiling above them had been patched. It had been done well enough to not notice it if he hadn't been looking, but clearly not done professionally. The stone floor beneath wore the scars of cracks and pockmarks that had recently been repaired. He could see thin lines of grit and crumbled stone along the very edges of the walls, a clear indication that the hallways had been swept clear of rubble—recently, too.

The Academy had suffered, but the evidence had been cleaned away. There was nothing to indicate life or death or destruction. It was simply clean.

Ganbri grabbed Nista's arm. "It's my dad," he whispered.

Nista shot him an odd look. "We know that."

"No, that's not what I mean. Look at this place."

They climbed a large and beautiful stairway. Ganbri ran his hand along the bannister and held it out for Nista to see. No dust.

"In the middle of a war and in a place this big, who takes the time to dust the hand rails?"

Nista eyes widened slightly and he started looking around, no doubt catching the same, if not more, details that Ganbri had. "No," he muttered in disbelief.

"This is what he does whenever they're fighting."

"He cleans the house." Nista nodded quickly in agreement. "So they're fighting and we're about to get in the middle of it. Fucking excellent."

The Academy was massive—like a small city all by itself—but the Master knew exactly where to go. Not once did he hesitate or turn back. The only time he even paused his steps was to gaze up at a stone wall that had an enormous map of the galaxy carved into it and, even for that, it was only a second or two at most.

They marched past classrooms, libraries, and rooms that Ganbri couldn't identify, either because he didn't recognize the equipment inside or because they were nearly empty. One room they passed had nothing but a large, humanoid mannequin standing in the center and a large door on the far side. Another had row upon row of chairs with a single polished silver ball sitting on each seat. Banni had a silver ball that played music, but it was smaller than these and had little carvings on it. Still, Ganbri had an inkling that the balls must have been some kind of musical instrument.

Then again, he supposed they could just be balls. Did Time Lords at the Academy have to take gym? He'd never thought to ask.

They turned onto a hallway that looked different than the others. This one was long and had no doors running along the sides, leading only to a single, massive set of doors at the very end. This was clearly for some sort of ceremony, with red banners hanging from the ceiling and beautiful carvings in the walls, some inlaid with stones and metals. Ganbri wished he knew more about Gallifreyan art so that he could understand what he was seeing but his only choice was to memorize every detail that he could, so that he could learn about it later.

The Master's voice whispered to their minds. "Stay outside unless you're called. No one fires, no one breaks formation, no one even speaks unless they are given my express permission. Anyone who acts against these orders will be putting the entire group in danger and will be dealt with accordingly. Am I understood?"

Ganbri heard a thousand voices respond with "yes, sir" but not a single mouth moved and the air did not stir with vibration. No one would have heard a thing if they were just observing.

Then Ganbri heard his voice again. "You lot, with me."

Tassiel, Jinnar, Nista, and the Master's children all stepped forward. Ganbri glanced back over his shoulder at the small army packed into the hall behind them. If anything were to happen, they couldn't possibly fight to defend themselves. It was a risk, but one that the Master apparently felt confident in. Then again, it didn't seem that he was confident enough to take the same risk with his children.

The Master gave a final nod of approval and pushed open the door. On the other side, the ground was covered in sand and it looked as though there were no ceiling. Ganbri could see the night sky above them—the same stars and green nebula that he'd seen when they first arrived—but he knew immediately that it was only an illusion. There were no signs of the war in that sky. There were no ships or smoke or fire. Like so many of the rooms in the TARDIS, it was only a clever combination of technology and art to make a room in the heart of a fortress look like the open outdoors.

Ahead of them, Ganbri could see something large and round, emanating light into the room. In front of it, there stood a man, alone and completely unarmed. Ganbri was startled by how old he looked.

"Some of you are too young to have seen this room before," the man spoke aloud, echoing through the false night. "This room was the start of our civilization—the very first school on all of Gallifrey. This room alone served as the entire building and the rest slowly grew around it until it became the Academy you see today. Everything has been built and rebuilt over and over again, except for this. The sand beneath you is the result of countless feet wearing down the stone floor over billions of years. New stones have been laid on top of it several times, but it all turns to dust in time. This sand was created through the joint efforts of all of your ancestors, throughout all of our recorded history, aided by nothing else but time. Take a moment to appreciate the great and everlasting path before you—to know how your own feet will change it—and, when you are ready, take your first step."

No one moved. No one spoke. The Master allowed for them to have that moment of contemplation before finally speaking.

"I thought you never wanted to be a teacher," he said, stepping forward where he could be easily seen. "And I definitely thought you never wanted to be a part of such old traditions."

"I don't," the man answered. "But I'm afraid I am the only one here."

"We both know that we didn't come for a history lesson."

The old man smiled and, despite the wrinkles and the scars being so unfamiliar, Ganbri knew the smile. Banni was tired and sad and hurting. It was the smile he gave when he would sit with Ganbri on his bed and try to explain why he couldn't see Tokrah because he was unwell. It was the smile he gave when Ganbri asked about his homeworld, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, and especially his siblings. It was the smile he made when he was hurting because of the simple fact that he loved.

"I do know," the Doctor said gently. "But I was hoping that you might change your mind and settle for some history instead. We had an agreement, after all."

"I've not broken our agreement."

The Doctor gave him an unimpressed look and sighed. "We promised that we would never march our families against one another. An army at your back means that you didn't just drop by for a visit and the members of said army mean that you've broken our agreement. I know it's been some time, but I can still recognize my own wife when I see her." He leaned in Tass's direction and smiled wide. "Hello, darling."

Tassiel gave a quick nod. "My love," she said in a tone that was a little gentler than Ganbri would have thought. "Having soldiers at your back doesn't mean much these days. You may not have noticed, but there's a war going on outside."

"There wouldn't be if you lot had let me put an end to it."

Tass rolled her eyes. "You were going to kill everyone and destroy the planet!"

"To save the rest of the universe," the Doctor shot back quickly. "Do you have any idea what Rassilon was going to—"

"You have _got_ to let it go," Tass cut in. "It was _sixty_ years ago, Doctor. Rassilon is gone and universe is still here! It was a better way and you know it."

"It was dead simple, really," the Master chuckled. "You're just mad that you didn't think of it yourself."

The Doctor's eyes took on a dark look and his voice was suddenly full of annoyance. "Oh, yes. Forgive me for not thinking of the plan where a 40-year-old _child_ is sent to assassinate a world leader."

The Master shrugged. "It might be a bit unorthodox but, as you can see by the solid planet beneath your feet and the billions of lives on and around it, it was effective."

So this was what they were fighting about. Of course, Tokrah would never waver in the belief that it was better to assassinate one man than to sacrifice an entire world. And, of course, no matter how much sense it made, Banni could never admit that an assassin had actually been a good idea.

"If you think I'm angry just because _you_ saved people—"

"I think you're angry because I saved people _from_ _you_."

The words landed with a sting in them and the silence that hung afterwards was heavy. Sixty years had passed and yet the conviction behind the Master's words and the look of pain and surprise in the Doctor's eyes made it seem like the argument had just started that morning. This was not the kind of thing they would ever agree upon. Even if they wanted to, Ganbri didn't think they _could_. Their pride and their principles just ran too deep.

It seemed that the Doctor reached the same conclusion. He cleared his throat, the wrinkles around his eyes suddenly looking deeper as he glanced around the room. He forced his back straight, trying to regain his composure. "You don't want the Academy."

"No."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that you only came here because of our son?"

The Master didn't hesitate or ask how the Doctor knew. "Don't you want to meet him?"

The Doctor's eyes turned to the group next. "Come forward, boy. Let's have a look at you."

Ganbri only managed to take one step before Nista pushed in front of him. Without a word, the little Alreesh man lifted his staff in his hands and marched ahead of him like a living shield. The Doctor didn't smile when he saw them step forward.

He looked at Ganbri for a long moment before speaking. "You're taller than I thought." His eyes turned to Nista next. "And you are . . . well, _not_ as tall as I thought."

Ganbri wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Tokrah was looking at him with that look of expectation that he had whenever he was waiting Ganbri to impress him. Was he supposed to act tough? Was he supposed to ask for help? Was he supposed to say something to inspire the Doctor's cooperation?

Even as his mind searched for the action he thought Tokrah wanted, his voice spoke meekly. "You know us?"

"Of course," the Doctor answered with a chuckle. "I know of many of you. Your friend too, though sadly not near as many. Unfortunately, you don't survive very often."

Ganbri watched the muscles in Nista's neck and beck tense up. He lowered his chin, guarding his throat and Ganbri wouldn't be surprised if he looked at his face and saw his lip started to slip upwards. The Doctor chuckled in response.

"That's a distressing thought, isn't it?" he said with a smile. "Doesn't it just put an awful feeling in your chest, like something's trying to pull you down? That's a kind of fear that other people just can't comprehend unless they feel it. Understandable, of course. Most people don't want to die." His eyes turned to Ganbri next. "And yet, if I were to tell you the same thing, would you feel the same fear that your friend does?"

Ganbri thought about it a moment but hesitated in his answer. He didn't want to embarrass J.J. but everyone would know if he lied. "I guess not," he said quietly.

"No," the Doctor answered, nodding in agreement. "Do you know why that is?"

Tassiel stepped forward then. "This isn't necessary," she said firmly. "We didn't come for this."

"You did though," the Doctor answered quickly, shooting her an impatient look. "This is exactly what you came for."

The Master glanced over at Tass and gave her a subtle nod. She stepped back, an unhappy look on her face.

"Most people have what we call their greatest fear," the Doctor continued, returning his attention to Ganbri and Nista. "It's deeply-rooted and almost impossible to get past. Sometimes they make sense to us and sometimes they don't. The Time Lords greatly restricted access to other universes but one of the things they did learn, quite by mistake, was that our greatest fears come from our other selves."

Nista shifted uncomfortably and Ganbri noticed his head turn a little, as though he were avoiding eye contact with the Doctor.

"Yes," the Doctor said solemnly with a slow nod of his head. "We are linked with our other selves in a way we don't fully understand, but we have learned how it affects us. Prophecies, instincts, those feelings in your gut that tell you to make one decision or another—they come from your link to other worlds, subconsciously knowing the outcome for your other selves. It's where our fear comes from too." The Doctor stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Nista, and he smiled. "Your greatest fear is death itself because, more often than not, your other selves have died young and violently. Your loved ones have betrayed you or failed you over and over again, so your instincts tell you that you're never safe. They tell you that because it's true."

Nista shot an uneasy glance at the Master but said nothing. When Ganbri looked to him as well, all he did in return was offer a subtle nod to let them know that the Doctor was telling the truth.

"They kept that a secret from most of us," the Doctor continued. "Most people can't handle the thought. We find comfort in telling ourselves that our fears are nothing to worry about—there's no such thing as monsters, I would never let that happen, they would never do that to me . . ." He paused and turned his gaze off to the side. Perhaps he was thinking that he'd said enough. He stepped to the side and gestured towards the source of light behind him. "The power to know these things lies in the object you see behind me. The Master brought you here because he hopes to seize it for himself."

"I brought them here to get them home," the Master answered quickly.

The Doctor chuckled. "And with all your equipment and brilliance, the only possible way to do it was to come here? You could have _built_ a portal, old friend."

The Master shook his head stubbornly. "There's no time. They're facing a bigger threat that—"

"I know. I've been watching." The Doctor took a few steps closer, arms crossed behind his back, and eyed them up and down carefully. His eyes stopped on the wound on Nista's head, exposed for all to see with his hair shaved away. "You've made it this far," he said gently. "I should tell you that your fear will soon change."

Ganbri felt like he was beginning to understand. As little as he knew of what it was like to grow up in the Academy, he knew about its initiation ritual. New students would be taken to gaze into the Untempered Schism—a tear in the fabric of space and time itself. Every child was given a small glimpse to help them understand how unfathomably small they were compared what was around them, to help them understand why the laws of time were so important to follow.

For a person who was clever and ambitious enough, however, the Schism could be used to calculate every decision they made. They could peer into other universes, at their other selves, and see what happened down each path they followed.

It could be used to win a war.

Ganbri looked over to the Master. "You brought us here to get a weapon?"

"This will get you home," the Master insisted. "And it will save the rest of us. This isn't some kind of manipulation, Ganbri, it's just good planning."

If Ganbri hadn't been paying such close attention to their faces, he would have missed it, but the Doctor's eyes turned to Nista again. He was looking for something, expecting something. As far as Ganbri could tell, Nista's body language didn't suggest that he was planning to do anything, nor did he sense any unusual thoughts from him. Suddenly he felt as though he were trying to keep up in a conversation that was not being spoken in a language he understood and his frustration was building.

"Why do you keep looking at him?" Ganbri suddenly demanded, stepping towards the Doctor to break his line of sight. "What are you doing?"

The Doctor smiled that tired smile of his again. "I'm watching history happen, dear boy," he said quietly. "I've seen what becomes of you all so many times—always reaching the same places in different ways. This is the first time I've been able to see the moments that make the men up close."

Ganbri couldn't help it. He glanced back at Kahlia, strong and fierce and loyal. In this world, she was a loving daughter and sister. In his own world . . .

"The Nightmare," the Doctor said softly, as though he had heard his thoughts. Then he turned his eyes towards Berran and Hannes. "The Whisper and the Silence." He looked back at Ganbri, eyes flicking beyond his shoulder at Nista. "The Haephsian Sun and the Fleshcloak." He smiled again, so tired and so old. "It doesn't seem to matter how hard we try to stop it. Eventually, you all become gods of war."

"No," the Master cut in quickly. "I saw the Nightmare in his memories. That never happened to Kahlia."

"It happened to Kahlia after she looked into the Untempered Schism," the Doctor answered with an edge of irritation to his voice. "Where is she standing now?"

The Master's eyes widened slightly and he held out his arm in front of Kahlia, blocking the path between her and the Schism, as if he were afraid she would suddenly run to it. "Listen to me. We could work together to stop it. We can end the war, restore peace to Gallifrey. Ganbri is proof that we can work well together and Tass is a sister to me—a mother to my children. Come back to your wife and join us, Doctor. We were always meant to be family."

The Doctor looked over at him and smiled the first real smile Ganbri had seen on his face yet. For just a moment, he looked happy. He looked like he could believe it, like he might even agree. But then the smile left.

"You haven't asked me about the worlds where the war never started," he said softly.

The Master frowned. "I don't need to know that. The war is already here."

"You haven't asked me about the worlds where the war ended peacefully. You haven't asked me about the worlds where your children grow old, where they become scientists and teachers and artists instead of warriors." The Doctor looked over at Tassiel. "You haven't asked me about the worlds where you're happy."

The Master's voice suddenly gained a worried edge to it. "Doctor—"

"Don't you think I looked?"

"Let _me_ look," the Master answered quickly. "Let Tass. Let Jinnar. This is too much for one person. We can do it together."

The Doctor shook his head slowly and turned his eyes to the sand at his feet. "You start to see patterns eventually. At first, it's all just nonsense and chaos—too many variables to follow—but, eventually, you learn how to follow the timestreams and notice the differences. Then you start to see the patterns."

"Your judgement is clouded," Tassiel stepped forward, her hands reaching out to him cautiously, like she were approaching a wounded animal. "You've been here alone for too long, staring into that thing without anyone to pull you out of it. No one can find an objective truth on their own."

"I didn't need to look for the truth, my dear," the Doctor answered, smiling at her. "I've felt it my whole life. I've just been to cowardly to face it."

"Listen to me, you old fool," Tassiel barked, stepping closer. "I am your wife and for once in your stupid life, you will listen to me. This is _not_ for you to decide. Not alone. Not now, when we are all here. You have some of the greatest minds of Gallifrey prepared to stand with you and find an answer. This is _not_ the time for you to give up."

"It's not giving up. It's doing what's right." The Doctor was stepping backwards now, moving away from them, smiling that sad and tired smile of his. "I _looked_. Don't you understand? I've spent sixty years looking, trying to find a way it could be the way I wanted things to be. In all the worlds I watched, do you know how rare it is?"

" _Rare_ ," the Master repeated back to him. "Not impossible."

Ganbri watched them argue, that frustrating feeling of not understanding growing. The worst part was that he felt like he _did_ understand, and he just wasn't allowing himself to. The Doctor continued his slow steps backwards, the Untempered Schism seeming to grow larger and larger as he approached it. Tass was following him carefully, hands reached out like she was preparing to disarm him, but he had no weapon. Hannes was doing something with his rifle and the others were all tensing, like they were preparing to move. Even J.J. seemed to know something he didn't. He was reaching one arm behind him, making sure that Ganbri was at his back, and slowly backing away, pushing Ganbri with him.

"What's happening?" he asked in a whisper. He thought that perhaps the Master was giving them orders and forgetting to include Ganbri. Surely J.J. would tell him? But J.J. simply shushed him and kept inching him backwards.

"I watched these things happen over and over again. I saw the patterns." The Doctor took another step back, the light of the Schism falling upon his shoulders, hiding his face in shadows. "It only confirmed what I already knew. We only feel that kind of fear when we know that it's true." He took a slow, deep breath. "I love you all."

The room erupted in an instant. Ganbri heard a deafening bang off to his right that he soon recognized as Hannes's rifle. J.J. launched himself backwards, driving his body into Ganbri's chest hard enough to knock him off balance and send him sprawling backwards. He heard several shouts and scuffles of movement but, every time he tried to sit up or move in a way that would allow him to see, J.J. shoved him back, fighting to pin him down.

J.J. was barking something at him about staying out of it or not looking but he wasn't really hearing it. All he could think of was how to toss his friend aside without hurting him. Jinnar shouted and Tass swore loudly. There were still sounds of commotion. Whenever he managed to push J.J. aside enough to catch a glimpse, all he could see was the group huddled around the Schism, struggling. He glanced off his side and saw Berran had done the same thing J.J. had, pinning Kahlia to the ground, only Kahlia wasn't fighting him.

A moment later, the sounds seemed to change. There were still grunts of effort and enthusiastic cursing, but the sense of urgency had left their voices. J.J. let go of him and Ganbri jumped up too his feet to see what had happened.

Hannes was standing off to one side, keeping one eye on the group while he reloaded his rifle. Tass looked absolutely furious, huffing and wiping her nose with the back of her fist, but Ganbri could see there were tears streaming down her face. Then he saw the Master and Jinnar, each with an arm hooked under the Doctor's, dragging him away from the Schism. His legs dragged and his head hung in a way that sent an immediate wave of fear through Ganbri's hearts, but then he saw him bend his knee in an attempt to stand.

The Master and Jinnar let him go once they'd achieved a good distance from the Schism, letting his body drop on the sand. Jinnar hunched over, resting his hands on his knees and huffing, while the Master immediately walked away to pace in a quick circle.

"Are you fucking crazy!?" the Master shouted angrily, kicking at the sand. "Why would you—How could—"

"It's better," the Doctor answered. "It's the only way."

His voice was slurred and slow. Ganbri stepped forward for a better look and, though Jinnar shot him a look, no one stopped him. He could see the Doctor's eyes were fighting to stay open and there was a hole in jacket near his shoulder, a few drops of blood around it. On the sand beside him sat a strange looking dart, its tip glistening red.

"You don't know that!" Tass said loudly, her voice thick with emotion.

"We have to try," the Master added quickly, still pacing. "You have to at least _try_!"

"I have," the Doctor answered sleepily. "So many times. So many worlds. I know it doesn't work. I've always known it's true. I was just too scared to admit it." He laid his head down in the sand and closed his eyes, giving in to the sedative Hannes had shot him with. "You'd all be better off without me."


	39. Chapter 39: Harry

Harry felt a lot better when he woke up in the afternoon. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep for hours, waking up and quickly deciding he wasn't prepared for it yet. The only thing that pushed him to get up now was a straining bladder and a complaining stomach.

His head still ached and various parts of his body protested when he got to his feet. He felt old. Bridget barked at him to get back to bed when he opened his door, earning attention from the few customers that had come to the tavern for lunch and an early drink. Harry waved awkwardly at the room and muttered something about needing a little fresh air. Really, he just didn't feel like peeing in a bottle at the moment. Bridget crossed her arms and gave him a stern look but didn't yell at him again or try to drag him back as he made his way to the door.

It was cold outside, enough that he even felt a little shiver run through him. Kel would be miserable, where ever he was. He didn't complain out loud about it very much, but Harry had learned by now that one of the quickest ways to put Kel in a bad mood was to expose him to the cold. He got this tiny little furrow between his brows whenever he knew they were going to go outside—a little moment of pre-emptive grumpiness. Part of him thought it was funny but a part of him felt a little bad that they were stuck somewhere that it was always cold.

When he made his way back inside, Bridget was shaking her head the moment she saw him. "You'll catch your death," she scolded, quickly moving to his side to herd him back to his room. "You think the doctor would approve of you going out there? You're not even meant to be leaving your bed!"

"I'm really okay," he answered but, even as he said it, he could hear that his voice lacked some of its usual strength.

"I didn't ask your opinion on the matter."

Harry climbed back into his bed and did his best not to argue while Bridget pulled the blankets up, huffing and tutting and shaking her head the whole time. She tended to the fire, which had burned quite low, and grumbled a bit about how foolish it was to go out into the cold for a piss when God had graced him with the ability to do so without leaving his bed. She then picked up the water jug from beside the wash basin and held it up almost as if she were threatening him with it.

"You don't even have to sit up with that," she muttered, putting it down on his bedside table. "I'll get you some soup. _Do not_ get out of bed or I'll whip the skin off you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Harry didn't plan to get up again anyway. He was tired, despite how much he had slept, and every physical instinct he had told him that continuing to rest was the best choice. He chuckled quietly to himself as he settled into his bed, finding amusement in the way that Bridget showed her love the most when she was swearing and making threats. He knew she'd been widowed twice in her life—it made sense that she'd worry as much as she did and had no patience for going against a doctor's advice. It reminded him a bit of how gruff Jack could be with the kids whenever he was worried.

Bridget came back a few minutes later with a bowl full of soup and a piece of bred much larger than she usually gave out. There were more chunks of meat and vegetables in it than usual and Harry knew she must have purposely scooped from the very bottom of the pot.

"Eat it all," she ordered, a little less stern sounding than before. "Leave the bowl on your table and I'll fetch it later."

Harry smiled warmly at her as he took the bowl. "Thank you."

It was easier to stay in bed than he thought it would be. He expected to get restless after eating, but his aching head seemed to drain the energy from him. He put his bowl aside, laid back, and let his mind drift. He had one of Kel's little stones sitting on the table beside him—he had already used it and it had become corrupted, but it was nice to hold it for a little while all the same. It made him think of home and, as long as he was sure to put it down at the first thought of something frightening or unpleasant, the corrupted memories were almost as good as the real ones.

It had started to snow outside by the time Kel returned. He came into the room like he was in a hurry, not stopping to say hello or remove anything before moving straight to the fire, turning his back on Harry to hold his hands toward the heat. He'd been gone for hours, so Harry didn't find it surprising.

"We need to get you better gloves," Harry muttered, turning onto his side for a better view. "Those ones aren't thick enough for this kind of weather."

"I can barely use my hands as it is in these ones," Kel answered with a shrug. "I'll get colder if I wear gloves that I have to keep taking off. Hopefully, we won't be here much longer and it won't matter anyway."

"Did you find out if there's something in the woods?"

Kel nodded and started stripping his coat and scarf off. "I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm certain that it's not from Earth." He moved over to his side of the room, tossing his coat onto his bed and digging through his small collection of belongings that he kept in the corner. He didn't speak for a moment or two and Harry wondered if he was struggling to remember what he'd seen. The whole day would have been pointless if he couldn't remember.

"Why do you think it wasn't from Earth?" Harry asked, hoping it would help trigger the memory.

Kel sat down on his bed with a small, flat piece of wood and a knife and began quickly carving a pattern. "It looked humanoid but was clearly not simian. Hathorne didn't know what it was and people around here know all about the wildlife. He would have known what it was," Kel answered, not looking up from the wood in his hands.

Harry waited for the story of what happened but Kel didn't offer it. He seemed too focused on his carving to talk so Harry gave him a moment to finish and simply watched. His hands were clumsy and he seemed to struggle with the knife. Harry assumed it was because he was still cold but quickly began to realize that it seemed more like agitation.

"Is Hathorne alive?" Harry asked quietly.

The knife slipped a little and Kel worked it back into place before answering. "I believe so," he muttered. "It looked like a stone woman with wings and it didn't move whenever we were looking at it. It was terribly fast when it did move though."

He wasn't looking up. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't talking about the strange new thing he saw, aside from passing basic information, or trying to engage Harry in conversation about it. If Kel asked him about it, Harry could have told him it sounded like a Weeping Angel, and teach him anything he wanted to know about them. But he didn't ask.

"Is something wrong?"

Kel looked up then, a look on his face that suggested he was surprised. It wasn't until he looked up that Harry noticed his lip had been split on one side. The blood had already been wiped away, but Harry could easily see that it was swollen and beginning to bruise.

"What happened?"

Kel smiled. "The terrain in the woods was very rough and there was a lot of snow to conceal it. I tripped over a root and injured myself."

Kel turned his attention back to his work and grew quiet again. Harry watched him carving the spiral pattern for another moment, paying attention to every detail. He was working quickly, like he was afraid that he would forget what he was writing down, but it would be much faster if he simply told Harry what he'd seen. He saw scraped flesh peeking out from beneath his shirt on his collarbone and on the palms of his hands, which he supposed was consistent with a fall. But then he saw a red mark across his throat, so faint that it would be easy to miss.

Harry had gleaned enough from Hathorne's mind to know that he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted and didn't care to be told no. He had pushed Kel into flirting with him and then he allowed for him to go with him to a place where they would be completely isolated and alone. He hadn't really considered that it might have been unsafe.

"Kel, did he hurt you?"

Kel finished his carving and blew away the little slivers of wood. "What would give you an idea like that?" he asked, tossing the knife aside and getting to his feet. "I told you, I tripped over a root. You know that walking through snow isn't easy for me."

Harry watched him carefully tuck the piece of wood away with the other one he kept and wondered whether or not to push the issue. It wasn't his business really. A few weeks ago, he would have been fine to let it go. A few weeks ago, he probably wouldn't have even noticed that something was wrong. But he couldn't shake the thought that he wouldn't walk away from it if it were the Doctor or Jack or anyone else from home.

Harry sighed and started to get up from his bed. "Kelevra—"

"You shouldn't be getting up." Kel interrupted quickly. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I'll survive standing up and taking three steps. I just want to help."

"I don't need any help. They're just scrapes and bruises." Kel turned back to look at him, smiling that fake smile of his. "I'm fine."

He wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't just sit back down. If it were Jack, he'd simply push for information, maybe even act like he was irritated, but he knew Kel well enough now to know that that would only make him angry. If it were the Doctor, he'd probably talk about something they'd faced together and remind him that he always dealt with things better when he leaned on someone he loved. He didn't have that kind of relationship or those kinds of memories with Kel and, as far as he knew, Kel rarely leaned on anyone.

He stood there for a moment, feeling somewhat awkward but trying to look like he was patiently waiting, hoping Kel would simply decide to tell him the truth. He didn't. Kel looked at him curiously, that fake smile still in place, and then his eyes began to dim. He was retreating, disconnecting himself from his host to avoid showing emotion. Once, that would have worked—Harry would have simply shrugged it off as Kel being weird again—but now he knew better. He just didn't know _enough_ to know what he ought to do. It was frustrating to feel so useless.

So he asked himself something he never thought he'd ask: What would Doug do?

Doug was Kel's friend, Harry knew that much. He looked happy any time he talked about Doug and often spoke of his obnoxious behaviour as though it were endearing. He liked Doug for a reason, and Doug wouldn't ask for information. He wouldn't point out the evidence that suggested an attack. He wouldn't care about the details of what happened, only that something _did_ happen. Then his poor impulse control would take care of the rest.

Harry made sure not to move too quickly, to make sure that Kel had a chance to move away or tell him to keep back. At the first sign of movement, Kel took a half-step back and then quickly stopped, not moving any further while the space between them shrunk. Harry had expected that he'd stiffen up, freeze the second Harry touched him, maybe even pull away or ask what he thought he was doing. Instead, he was surprised to find that Kel hugged him back without a second's hesitation.

There was an eagerness there that Harry would never have expected—desperation almost. Even without the use of telepathy, Harry could feel that there was pain and loneliness in the way that Kel clung to him and he couldn't help but feel a certain measure of guilt. Kel had told him years ago that he wanted to be friends and Harry hadn't believed him for a second. Now he was starting to think that it had been a simple and honest truth. Kel was alone in an alien body, on an alien world, surrounded by people who knew nothing about him. Of course he wanted a friend.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have been there."

"Don't tell Bridget."

"I won't." He felt Kel's grip on him relax slightly, but he didn't let go just yet. "Do you want me to kill him?"

Kel thought for a long moment before finally answering. "No."

"Okay. Just tell me what you want me to do."

Kel finally let go of him then, taking a slow step backwards. His eyes and face were completely lifeless but he made no attempt to hide his wounds, even bringing his hand up to his throat and lightly rubbing the redness across it.

"I just need to make some tea," he answered quietly. "And I would appreciate some help removing my boot. Please." Harry looked down at his feet and then back up, and Kel shook his head. "I actually _did_ trip on a root and injure myself," he explained before gesturing to his face and neck. "The rest of it happened after."

Harry sat back down on his bed while and waited while Kel set a pot of water above the fire. "Your throat hurts?" he asked as casually as he could.

Kel nodded and rubbed as his throat again. "He grabbed the back of my collar," he muttered. "Tried to drag me through the snow." He stared into the fire, face dead and expressionless. "I think he was going to kill me."

Harry felt his muscles tightening up one by one, a sense of anger rising up inside him. "Did he try?"

"No," Kel answered with a little shrug. "Just something he said—robbers being clever for killing the people they rob. Take what you want and don't leave anyone alive so that you don't get caught. What else would he do after . . ." Kel trailed off, settling into silence as he stared at the flames.

"You made it back. That's what matters," Harry said quietly. "Sit down. Let's get that boot off."

Kel obeyed, turning from the fire and sitting down on his own bed. "This one, please," he said, pointing to his right foot.

Harry stayed where he was, thinking. He wanted to help but didn't know how. A promise of vengeance was what he really wanted to give, but Kel had already said no to that. The hug seemed to help but he it wasn't enough. He wanted Kel to stop looking like that. Even though he knew perfectly well that Kel was alive, the dead look on his face was deeply unsettling and all Harry could think about was how to bring him back.

He grabbed the used stone off of the night stand. "Do you have any more of these?"

Kel glanced at the stone and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I couldn't prepare one for you right now."

"I meant for you," Harry answered quickly. "Can you teach me how to use it?"

Kel thought on it for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think so. Most Zumecki are incapable of it and can't be taught. I'm not even sure where I would start with another species."

Harry frowned, looking down at the small stone and feeling as though it had just personally insulted him. "Most medical tools can be adapted for other species."

Kel blinked at him, taking a long moment to respond. "Harry, they aren't medical tools." He seemed to think that was enough of an explanation until Harry looked at him with confusion, then he sighed and continued. "They call them mnemist stones. It's like music or, I don't know, a painting. The stones record brain activity and relay it back when they're touched, making the consumer feel a certain series of emotions, usually triggering memories or dreams, but it's all created by the mnemist. People only use them for the experience."

"This is _art_?"

Kel nodded.

"Why do you know how to do it?"

"It was my profession," Kel answered simply, shrugging his shoulders. "I showed some natural skill for purification when I was young so, when I was old enough for training, I chose that. The stones carry residual activity from anyone that has handled them, no matter how briefly, and most mnemists can't erase the corruption without adding their own. They hire others to purify them so that they can be used for new work. I started as a purifier and learned to be a mnemist." His eyes stayed dim and lifeless, but his mouth smiled with something that looked like pride. "My work is somewhat known on my homeworld. You've used a small fortune in this room, truth be told."

"You've never talked about it before."

"I've never talked about many things," Kel answered, the smile vanishing from his face as quickly as it had appeared. "That has always seemed to be how you preferred our relationship."

Harry was starting to feel sick. His head ached and his stomach squirmed uncomfortably. His mind was racing back over years of memories, trying to think of any time that Kel had told him something personal—of any time he had shown an interest. He'd seen times when Kel seemed irritated or concerned, even injured, and Harry had always reacted with suspicions or impatience. He'd mutter unkind remarks under his breath or he outright yelled, and Kel would just stand there, smiling at him. Smiling was the only he could do that didn't get a negative response. And now, when he couldn't bring himself to smile, he had nothing left to do.

Harry looked at Kel's empty eyes and lifeless face and took a moment to consider his words. "Kel," he started slowly. "I don't want you to think that you need to hide from me."

Kel's eyebrows moved together in a slight furrow but the light didn't return to his eyes. "I don't understand."

"This," Harry answered, gesturing towards his own face. "It's normal to be upset or angry or however you feel. It's okay to show it. If you're worried about what I'll think or do, I would actually prefer it."

Kel looked at him curiously for a moment. "No, it's not that," he said, sounding somewhat confused. "What you would see would be the physiological response of my host—a response that I wouldn't have on my own. It's very unsettling."

"Unsettling?"

"Heart rate rises, the throat seems to swell, the lungs can spasm, shaking, weakness," Kel listed symptoms with a quick shake of his head. "Then there's _fluids_ involved. I have an exoskeleton—leaking anywhere means you might be dying."

"I suppose that's—"

"What did you mean you would prefer it?"

Harry sighed, unsure of how much he wanted to say. Part of him wanted to say never mind and carry on as normal, but part of him felt that this might be one of those moments that was more important than it seemed. He had enough regret to last him a lifetime already.

"When I said I was sorry earlier, I didn't just mean for what happened to you today. Being here . . . I've been noticing things and learning more about you. I had a lot of ideas that were wrong. I never trusted you, I never listened to you, and I was never kind to you. You told me that you wanted to be my friend and I didn't believe you. You put yourself at risk to come with me here so that I wouldn't be stuck alone and I yelled at you for it." Harry sighed again, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. His eyes searched the room for something to look at that wasn't the hollow eyes staring back at him and couldn't seem to find somewhere to settle. Why was this so hard? "I've been really unfair to you. I justified it by thinking that you were some shady weirdo and that that somehow made you deserve it but I'm learning now that most of that is just because I didn't take the five minutes it would have taken to understand. I didn't ask if you knew how to smile with a human body, I just barked at you for doing it wrong."

"Well, everyone does that."

He knew Kel had meant it to relieve some of the guilt, but it only made him feel worse. "Doug doesn't," he answered quietly. "Bridget doesn't. I didn't understand why you like them so much . . . It's because they're nice to you, isn't it?"

The silence hung over them heavily. Harry found himself searching Kel's face for some kind of response but it looked even more dead than before. His eyes didn't blink and not a muscle moved. Harry wasn't even certain if he was breathing. He had retreated so far away from his host that it really was just a corpse sitting in front of him.

"Your son is nice to me," the body said after a long pause. "He's very kind. You raised a good man."

"Clearly, he didn't learn from my example," Harry chuckled somewhat awkwardly and looked away. It would be easier if Kel just got angry with him. If he yelled, even if he just agreed and pointed out some of Harry's awful behaviour towards him, it would somehow make apologizing for it easier.

He could see steam rising from the pot above the fire. It would boil soon. When it did, Kel would get up to make his tea and Harry knew that he would let the conversation end just to escape the awkwardness of it. If he wanted to finish what he had to say, he had to say it now.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I'm sorry for how I've treated you," Harry blurted out quickly. "And that, even though I'm really late, I'd like for us to be friends too. I'd like to understand you better. I was hoping that you'd be willing to help me with that by trying to communicate with me in ways that are a little easier for me to understand."

The corpse blinked and raised a hand to gesture to its own face. "You mean . . . through my host?"

Harry nodded. "Those physiological responses that your host experiences are some of the main ways that I know how to communicate, almost better than words."

For a second, Kel's eyes seemed to come back to life. The muscles in his face began to engage, reacting and moving just like any living thing would. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and Kel's face became blank and dead once again.

"I'll take that into consideration," he said quietly.

The pot was starting to boil and Harry was glad for a distraction. He got to his feet and started making tea, leaving Kel to sit and think about whatever was going on his head. He hadn't asked what kind of tea to make but a woman in town had given Kel a jar of dried herbs and leaves as well as a jar of honey as payment after he treated her husband's infected wound. Harry had seen him use them every time he made himself a cup of tea since.

"I assumed that you had always been a doctor," Harry said, setting the tea down to steep and turning his attention instead to tending the fire. "I never asked why you became one. Was it your idea to change professions or your parents'?"

"Mine," Kel answered with a voice that sounded as monotonous and withdrawn as his face looked. "I was far away from my parents by the time I started learning medicine." There was a slightly awkward pause during which Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond or not. He was about to say something when Kel took a quick breath in and continued. "My parents didn't care what kind of career I wanted to pursue, so long as I married as they chose."

"Are arranged marriages common on your world?"

"Quite common," Kel answered with a nod. "I wound up running away during the process."

Harry felt his mouth drop open slightly and quickly closed it. He turned away from the fire to look at Kel properly, still sitting there with that vacant expression.

"You left someone at the altar?"

Kel shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."

"In a manner of speaking?" Harry almost laughed. It was the last thing he would have suspected when it came to why Kel left his homeworld and something about it just amused him.

"Weddings are a three-day event for my people," Kel answered quickly, suddenly sounding a bit defensive. "I left after the first day so, technically, the wedding was in progress."

Harry left the fire alone and fetched the cup of tea for Kel. "What happens on the first day?"

Kel took the cup from him and looked him in the eye when he sat down. There was some life there, hiding in the corners, thinking of coming out.

"I believe the English word is consummation."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Shit."

"Exactly my thoughts after it happened." Kel took a quick sip of his tea. "The second day involves a private ceremony with family, and the third day is a public ceremony with anyone who cares to attend. The marriage isn't official until it's been declared to the public."

"So . . . you _did_ leave someone at the altar."

Kel's face become more animated then for the simple ability to give Harry a full look of annoyance. "In a manner of speaking."

Harry grinned. He'd take the annoyed look over the stone-faced corpse any day. Kel looked almost more irritated that Harry was grinning at him, but Harry suspected that that was what he wanted. It would be easier to use his host for expression if it was for something a little lighter at first.

"The part I'm not understanding is how that story actually has anything to do with my question."

Kel peered over the rim of his cup, sipping. "Hmm?"

"I asked why you became a doctor."

"Oh, yes. I'm getting to that."

"Are you? Because it sounded to me like you were just telling me that had a one-off and then never called."

"It was relevant inf—"

" _How_ is that relevant?" Harry interrupted loudly. "I have honestly _never_ heard someone tell the story of their career choice by starting with talking about their sex life."

One of Kel's eyebrows raised and he smiled that little smile he did when he was irritated. "Didn't your husband become a doctor in order to work with you?"

"How do you know that?"

"Your son told me."

Harry raised a finger defensively. "We were just friends."

"You got married."

" _Centuries_ later!"

"Well, in your story, the career choices came before the wedding and, in my story, the wedding came before the career."

"So you're telling me that you running away from your own wedding actually had something to do with your choice to study medicine?"

Kel quickly brought up his cup again, eyes piercing into Harry as he took a long purposeful sip. He didn't blink or look away when he pulled the cup back down, smiling slightly as he took his time to swallow, and then finally answered.

"No."

Harry made an exasperated sound, moving his hands apart and putting on an expression that demanded an explanation.

"I just knew that if I started the story with me essentially running away that you would want to know why."

"And you could have just told me that it was because you didn't want to get married."

"That _is_ what I said," Kel responded, beginning to sound exasperated himself.

"No, you included the part about having sex first. That was just unnecessary."

You asked me what happens on the first day!"

"I'm pretty sure that I didn't."

Kel's mouth opened, staring at Harry with a look of disbelief. It occurred to Harry then that perhaps Kel didn't realize that he was only teasing him—he supposed he wasn't used to it. Harry gave him an impish grin to help him along.

Kel half smiled and then quickly replaced it with another annoyed look. "Oh, go away."

Harry laughed. "No, no, I've still got to get your boot off. Come on." He slid down from his bed and knelt before Kel. "So, you ran away from your wedding and then?"

Harry reached for Kel's right foot only to have it pull away at the last second. He looked up to see that Kel's face had changed again. He hadn't withdrawn from his host—the emotion was there plain as day and Harry knew that it was only because Kel was letting him see it.

He was scared.

Kel said that his other injuries had happened after he'd hurt his ankle and Harry found himself quickly imagining the scenario. It could have gone a number of ways, but he didn't doubt that the initial injury had been the starting point. If a person saw other people as prey, then injured prey was even easier to attack.

Harry quickly raised his hands up so that Kel could clearly see them. "I'm not gonna do anything," he said quickly, keeping his voice down to calm, soothing tones. "I thought you were kidding when you told me to go away. That's my fault."

"No, I was," Kel answered quickly. "I didn't—I . . ." His eyes darted around the room a few times, breathing coming slightly faster. Harry saw the muscles in his face start to go slack as though he were retreating again, but then very quickly seemed to change his mind. He took a quick breath in, put his cup down on the floor beside him, and lifted his foot. "Please, help me take the boot off."

Harry watched his face carefully, still covered in subtle signs of distress. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Kel answered more confidently.

"Okay." Harry moved slowly and deliberately as he began untying the laces on Kel's boot.

Kel took another quick sip of tea, cleared his throat, and tried to continue talking as though nothing unusual had just happened. "I'd never left my planet on my own before. I didn't know what to do with myself and my host was useless. I needed a new one, preferably something that would at least allow me to speak. I was able to locate the body of a woman who was dead in her bed—a rare find on civilized planets—and I took it as a host."

Harry managed to carefully pull the boot free. The ankle was swollen and bruised, mottled with purple and blue. He was sure that Kel had experienced worse considering that he'd been under the same rigorous training from J.J. as everyone else at Torchwood, but it still had to feel unpleasant. He reached over to a bag of supplies that Kel kept near the foot of bed and dug out a roll of linen for wrapping, holding it up for Kel to see without speaking so as not to interrupt him. Kel gave him a quick nod and continued.

"I was still fairly young and had only changed hosts a few times before, so I was inexperienced. I missed certain things that I should have noticed."

Harry began to carefully wrap Kel's ankle with the cloth, but stopped for a second to look up at him. "She wasn't dead?"

"No," Kel answered, face solemn and voice quiet. "She was dying. Her family had brought her home to die peacefully and there was so little brain activity that I thought she was already gone. But, once I had settled in and tried to access whatever knowledge was left in her mind, she started to wake up."

Harry shook his head, swore quietly, and started to wrap again.

Kel nodded as if in agreement. "To the rest of the world, she would have just looked like a dead woman but, on the inside, she was _roaring_ at me." He chuckled, the solemn look on his face momentarily cracking to allow a smile. "She was scared because she didn't know what I was and because she knew that she wasn't breathing. She was so confused and offended, wanting to know what this thing that suddenly appeared in her head was. All I could think to say was 'It's just me', as if that meant anything to her. I started her breathing back up, to help her calm down, but it seemed to just make her more angry."

Harry looked up again, frowning a little bit. "For helping her breathe?"

"For _making_ her breathe," Kel corrected. "She said it was _her_ body. _She_ should be able to make it breathe, not me. She tore up one side of me and down the other, saying that I had no respect for the living or the dead, that I was trying to steal her body." He smiled a little wider, saying the next words with a softness to his voice that Harry hadn't heard before. "She kept calling me a bandit."

He looked sad and happy and numb all at the same time. It was the same kind of look the Doctor got when he spoke about his mother or his children—all those people that he'd loved once.

"She was your friend," Harry said quietly.

Kel nodded. "After she stopped screaming at me, of course, and she realized that I was young and slightly terrified of her. She was a lot like Bridget really."

Harry found himself looking around the room, at the fire, the beds, the oversized clothing they'd been given to wear. Bridget never thought twice about helping them. She grumbled and complained and made it sound like she was stepping outside of her usual behaviour to take care of them, but it quickly became obvious that it was simply second nature to her. If they'd been deaf, blind, and crippled, she still would have taken them in, despite the fact that they wouldn't be able to do a lick of work for her.

"At first, it just felt like an arrangement. I kept her alive and she gave me somewhere to live. She—" Kel cut himself off abruptly and Harry was startled to see that his eyes had very suddenly welled up.

Harry grabbed the bag of supplies and pulled out another stretch of linen, quickly pushing it into Kel's hands. "Hey, you don't have to tell me," he said quickly, feeling almost panicked. He hadn't expected Kel to actually open up when he asked, so he hadn't actually prepared himself for what to do. He didn't know him well enough to know what he should say. "It's okay if you don't want to."

Kel shook his head quickly, holding up his hand as if to silence Harry, and took a deep breath. "This is the good part though," he said, smiling despite the quiver in his voice, and took another breath. "She loved me. She gave me a home."

They were simple words. Words that should have been easy to say. Words that shouldn't have been as important as they so obviously were. Harry felt that horrible guilt weighing down on him again as he realized exactly what it was Kel was telling him.

Even in his worst years, Harry had never doubted that he was loved. He doubted he was loved by certain people, of course, but he always knew that _someone_ loved him. His mother loved him. Qhoya and Jinnar loved him. Kahlia loved him. When he was Professor Yana and couldn't remember his family, he knew that Chantho loved him. He always had someone to turn to, if he wanted—somewhere to go. Even after Gallifrey was gone and he had nowhere to call home, he had Lucy, and the sting of her betrayal only had a brief moment to hurt before he saw proof that the Doctor loved him as well.

What would he have done if he woke from death knowing that the Doctor hadn't begged him to regenerate? What if he had just sat there and watched him die as if he were simply another enemy defeated and he were just waiting for it to end?

Kel's face kept shifting between a blank expression and distress, clearly struggling to continue. A tear escaped one eye and he hurriedly wiped it away. "She was so sick that her body couldn't function on its own. I thought it was okay because I could do it for her." His breath hitched, his face contorted, and he quickly pulled up the linen Harry had handed him and hid his face in it. "I fucked up," he gasped into the cloth, shoulders beginning to tremble. "I disconnected in my sleep . . . When I woke up, she was just _gone_."

It seemed like Kel was starting to hyperventilate, gulping air and shaking. Harry didn't know what to say so he simply reached forward to touch Kel's arm. Kel pulled back so suddenly that it looked as if the touch had burned him.

"I'm going to stop," he said quickly, still holding the cloth to his face. "I'm stopping now. I'm stopping."

"Okay," Harry answered immediately. "Take your time."

The shaking stopped almost immediately and Kel took a few seconds to catch his breath before speaking again. "That is just _awful_. I don't know why anyone would do that if they could help it." Kel's voice was already sounding more like its usual self. Harry watched, completely fascinated, as he mopped his face with the linen and pulled it away to reveal an expression that suggested he had only been discussing the weather.

Kel sniffed and cleared his throat. "She was always concerned that her children or grandchildren would inherit the disease," he continued in a perfectly calm voice. "It took me thirty-two years, but I found the cure." He sat up straight and looked at Harry directly then, looking perfectly composed aside from a little redness around his eyes. "Have I answered your question?"

Harry felt at a loss for words. He wanted to thank Kel for doing something that was clearly difficult for him. He wanted to ask why he had decided to do it after nothing but an overdue apology. He wanted to apologize again. He had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, and yet a large part of him argued that doing so was a bad idea.

Kel lifted his foot, inspected the wrap, and gave a quick nod of approval. "That should do, thank you." He bent over and picked up his cup, taking a long sip. "I will probably need to keep off it for a couple of days so that I don't make it worse. You should get back to bed."

Harry couldn't seem to move. His mind was in two places, arguing with each other, both nagging at him. Go back to bed; let it go. Say something; do something. He had achieved what he wanted to and it was time to move on. The moment wasn't over yet and there was still more to do.

He wound up sitting on the floor, watching silently as Kel drank his tea. The scrapes on his chest still needed to be washed and looks irritated. His eyes were still a little red, but slowly came back to life as the tea calmed him. He kept tucking his hair behind his ears, only to have it spring back and fall into his face.

"Let me take care Hathorne," he found himself saying. "No one will find him."

"No, thank you," Kel answered simply. "I'll deal with Hathorne in my own time."

"I want to help you."

"I don't need your help, pet." His voice was sharp and his eyes pierced into Harry as though they carried a threat. After a few seconds, he sighed and attempted to tuck his hair behind his ear again. "I appreciate that you want to help but, right now, it would help me to not have to think about him."

Harry watched the dark slip of hair slowly slip back out from behind Kel's ear, springing forward to its previous position. "Your hair is getting too long," he said quietly. "I can take care of that."

Kel was half way through raising his hand to tuck the hair behind his ear again when he stopped. "You want to cut my hair?"

"If you'll let me."

Kel looked down into his cup, running his fingers through his own hair quickly as though he were checking its length. The black locks tangled around his fingers, snagging in some spots, burying his fingers from view in others. He took a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea before he looked down at Harry on the floor and nodded.

"Yes, pease."


	40. Chapter 40: Rose

Rose felt like she was in a daze, watching the others work together to fix the crown. Celeste and Annie were brilliant, debating with each other how best to handle the tiny portion of precious metal they'd stolen. Shaun and Sandra busied themselves with tracking the activity going on outside. It was easy to hear the fear in their voices—the fear that the Doctor would come for them.

She stood near the work bench, looking down at the crown, unable to contribute her own suggestions but willing to jump in if there was some way she could help. For the moment, there was nothing she could do but think.

James would be horrified to see this world. It was everything he was afraid of—everything he hated. No matter how much he distanced himself from the Doctor, he was still a part of him. They came from the same place. They were built from the same person. Whatever created the Doctor in this world existed in the Doctor from their own world, and in James. She wanted to think that that wasn't true but, from the kinds of things he'd said, James knew that the potential for this kind of madness was there. It had always been there.

"We might need to evacuate," Sandra announced to the room. "The King is hanging back. He's not coming near us."

"Isn't that good?" Rose asked.

Celeste pushed away from her work to look at the screens Shaun and Sandra were staring at. "Fucker might be planning to bomb us," she grumbled, lip curling up into something like a snarl. "That son of a bitch. We just need a little more time. We have to fix the crown first."

Sandra shook her head quickly. "We don't know what he could be sending. It could be bombs, it could gas, it could be some kind of biological weapon. We don't have any kind of warning and we have no way to prepare. If we wait, we could die."

Celeste moved back to the work station. "If we evacuate before we fix the crown, we're as good as dead anyway."

There was a moment of tense silence while Celeste and Annie worked feverishly and Shaun and Sandra frowned at their monitors, everyone just hoping that it wasn't too late. The simple sound of a kicked rock put an immediate end to that.

It was quiet enough, not at all a frightening sound on its own, but it echoed to them from darkness down the tunnel. Rose ran to look and Shaun quickly appeared beside her. The blackness of the tunnel obscured anything from view but the tracks were covered in rubble that would be difficult to navigate. Sure enough, a moment later they heard another kicked rock, dinging off the metal of the track and echoing clearly.

Rose scowled into the shadows, willing her eyes to adjust and let her see. If the King had not advanced on them, then his army shouldn't have either. That left the Doctor himself but, surely, he would have said something to announce his presence by now. She couldn't imagine him kicking rocks down the tracks to get their attention without following it up with some sort of speech or joke.

Slowly, a shape became visible. It was tall and thin, all limbs with little mass. For just a heartbeat, she thought it might be James, but it walked too easily and its breath wasn't laboured. Its head tilted back and forth curiously and then turned to the ground as though to watch its step. It was no more than thirty feet away when it finally stepped into direct light and Rose got to see why it had looked like nothing more than shadow.

"Jesus," Shaun breathe. "It's a Meanwhile.," he announced to the group.

" _What_?" Celeste snapped loudly. "We saw it outside. How _the fuck_ did it get in here!?"

"It can't have," Sandra answered. "We closed the door. We closed the door and sealed it."

"It was watching us," Celeste snarled in return. "It was fucking watching us and it saw us open the hatch."

"But they don't do that!"

"Obviously, they do!"

Shaun's face was tense, his eyebrows set closely together. He took a step away from the tracks, watching the shadowy figure come closer. "Celeste . . ."

"I know."

Rose squinted, trying to see the shape better. It looked familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Despite its body, its face looked nothing like James at all. It had a broader face, a smaller nose, and a stronger jaw. Why did she feel like she'd seen it before?

Shaun twisted his body, looking over to the work bench. "Celeste, it's—"

"I know!" Celeste shouted angrily. "I fucking _saw_ it, Shaun." Her voice sounded thick, filled with something more than just anger or stress. It wasn't until Rose heard that that she recognized the shadow's face.

It was Doug.

He had slowed down a little, taking his time inspecting rubble and the signage on the walls. He even looked up at the tunnel's ceiling, turning this way and that as though he were trying to see something up there, pausing that way for several moments before looking back down and taking another step.

"What do we do?" Shaun asked the room.

"This could be the Doctor's doing," Sandra answered quickly. "It's not attacking us. This could be a trick."

"Okay, so _what do we do_?"

Shaun's question hung on the air. No one knew how to answer. If it was a trick, what was it trying to achieve? They couldn't very well avoid falling victim to it if they didn't know what the goal was.

"Ignore it," Celeste said firmly. "Don't let it stop us. We keep working."

The shadow was moving closer—slowly, but closer all the same. Rose felt a bit of panic rising up in her chest, suddenly feeling trapped and not knowing how to get out. She turned her eyes toward the other end of the tunnel and the unknown darkness beyond. What if there were more coming from that end? What if they were filling the tunnels, silently blocking them in?

"What if it attacks us?" she asked, voice a little weaker than she liked.

"How about you just fucking watch it and, if a problem comes up, we deal with it then?" Celeste answered gruffly.

Shaun gave her a sympathetic look. "She's right," he said. "The trick could be to simply keep us distracted. We need to focus."

Of course. A distraction made sense. It was the kind of thing the Doctor might do. Send in something unexpected and just have it linger about to frighten them into standing still. She tried to convince herself that that somehow made the Meanwhile harmless, but she couldn't quite believe it.

"Okay," she said with a quick nod. "Okay, I'll watch it."

Shaun gave her a nod and a firm pat on the shoulder before hurrying back to work. She told herself to be pleased that she could contribute now. She didn't know how the computer systems in this Torchwood worked and she hadn't a clue how Annie and Celeste were going to fix that crown, but she could watch a shadow stumbling around in the dark and watch out for anything that might pose a danger.

Doug shuffled towards her now, dragging his feet in a way that kicked rocks and rubble with every step. It was making an awful lot of noise and Rose nervously scanned the darkness beyond again. Why was he making so much noise? Was he trying to cover up the approach of others? His grey eyes had been wandering aimlessly and passed over her like she wasn't there but, for just a moment, she saw purpose in them. He spotted the steps off to the side that would bring him to the platform and began moving towards them.

"He's—I think he's coming up here," she announced. No one answered. No doubt they were as uncomfortable with the concept as she was, but there was nothing to be done for it. They couldn't stop him and they had to finish their work before they could leave.

Doug climbed the steps with a bit of eagerness that hadn't been there before and then suddenly stopped at the top. For a second, Rose felt certain that he looked at her, but his eyes were unfocused and wandering again before she could be sure. He glanced around, suddenly taking great interest in the wall beside him, and then in the faded yellow paint on the floor. He sat down on the top step, turning to the side to rest his back against the wall and stretch his legs out, relaxing like he was simply waiting for a train.

"King's moving," Sandra called out. "Heading towards us now."

"Can they transmit images to each other?" Annie asked, her eyes shooting towards Doug suspiciously. "Could he be showing them where we are?"

"I don't know," Sandra answered, sounding a little frustrated. "This is just—the King always eats other Meanwhiles so we don't really know how they interact. I just don't know."

Celeste put a tool back down on her table with more force than necessary, making a thump that grabbed their attention. "Just keep working."

"Power is fluctuating between the portals," Shaun cut in. "It's pretty erratic. I don't know if I'm going to be able to predict which will be operational longest. We might have to figure it out once we're out there."

Doug started getting to his feet again and Rose reminded herself that she was meant to be watching him. She didn't need to know what the portals or the King were doing—she just had to watch Doug.

Once he was walking on the platform, she noticed immediately that he didn't walk towards anyone there. Considering that he didn't seem to even see them, it seemed a little strange that he just so happened to pick a direction in the small space that didn't put anyone in his path. He made a sharp turn, following the wall, wandering at a painfully slow pace. She watched his eyes catch on a computer screen, his head turning to follow it as he moved.

Sandra was sitting between Doug and the computer he was looking at. Rose never saw her look in his direction, but there was a new nervousness in her voice when she said, "He's covering ground quickly, guys."

"We just need a few more minutes," Annie answered back.

"Yeah, well, you're not getting more than that. If this one figured out how to get in here, you can bet that the others will too. It probably left the door wide open."

"Fuck," Celeste growled under her breath.

Rose turned to look at Celeste for just a second, noticing the way her face was tensing. When she looked back, Doug was looking at her too. His eyes quickly averted themselves and he went back to his casual wandering, but Rose knew what she'd seen this time.

"He's just pretending he doesn't notice us," Rose said aloud. She half expected the shadow to suddenly snap its dark eyes towards her, maybe even attack her, but he didn't. Why wouldn't it? "Why isn't he doing anything?"

"Shut up," Celeste snapped angrily. "Just shut up and watch it."

Doug had found his way to the little storage closet where Rose had found Celeste's things earlier. He stood and contemplated the door for a long moment, as though he were unsure what to do. It was during that moment that he snuck another split-second glance at Celeste and Rose saw what could have only been proper emotion on his face. He looked confused and concerned, maybe even frightened.

Celeste was swearing under her breath again. Chanting curse words like some sort of prayer, and Rose could hear a quiver in it. Doug stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at his feet while Celeste's whispers bounced and echoed off the walls. As if he suddenly figured it out, Doug's hand shot out and grabbed the door handle, twisting and pulling with a kind of unsteadiness that showed he wasn't sure it would work. The door opened.

"What is he doing?" Celeste asked, not looking up from her work. "Rose, what's he doing? Keep him the fuck out of there."

"How?" Rose asked helplessly. "I can't touch him. What do I do?"

"Just leave him, Rose. It's fine," Sandra answered. She was glancing over her shoulder at Celeste, brows furrowed. "Just keep working, remember? Ignore it and keep working."

Rose carefully side-stepped across the platform, moving so that she could keep her eye on Doug's shadow. She was watching him through the open doorway, carefully inspecting the items inside. He shuffled around some of the things on the floor with his feet, bending down and moving some with his hands, stopping for a particularly long time to inspect a shoe.

"What if I shut him in there?" Rose asked, trying not to move her eyes away. "We could barricade the door. Trap him."

"You are not trapping that _thing_ in there," Celeste spat. She dropped the tools in her hands, sniffed loudly, and wiped some sweat from her brow. Rose could see her hands were shaking. "Just get it out of there. Get it out."

"Celeste, I _can't_ ," Rose pleaded. "I know you don't want him in there but, if I shut the door, then we'll know we're safe. Walls are the only way we know to stop them."

"You can't," Celeste muttered, shaking her head. "You can't. You fucking _can't_ leave him in there."

"Celeste, I don't know what to do!"

The sound of tape ripping cut through the air. Celeste's face changed completely and she looked up, staring in the direction of the door as if she had just been slapped. Rose turned to see what the sound was and saw that the shadow had peeled the photograph of Celeste and Doug off of the wall and was holding it, inspecting it carefully.

Celeste couldn't see through the door from her position, but the look on her face showed that she knew exactly what the sound was. She slammed her hands down on the table, moved her legs as though she were prepared to sprint across the room, and bellowed, "Douglas Anders Burke, get the fuck out of my room!"

Everything stopped. No one moved and no one spoke and the silence was deafening. Rose could see that the shadow had frozen like a terrified deer, clutching the photograph in his hands.

"NOW!"

The shadow sprang to life and scrambled for the door. Rose bolted back towards the desks, being sure to leave lots of space between her and the creature. Even if she didn't think he wanted to harm her, she didn't want him touching her by accident. He made several hurried, clumsy steps away from the door and quickly turned to put his back against the wall, facing Celeste and immediately dropping his eyes to the floor. There was a mix of confusion and shame on his face, reminding Rose of a dog that knew it was in trouble but didn't understand why.

Celeste looked at the shadow's face in silence for a few seconds and broke. A stifled sob escaped her, followed by a few more and a series of sniffs as she tried to suppress it. The look of shame on the shadow's face deepened and his shoulders sank.

"This is impossible," Sandra said with a voice full of awe. "I mean, this is what the Doctor has been trying to achieve all these years. It can't be done."

"It could still be a trick," Shaun answered suspiciously. "It could be an act, under his control. You saw the way it was pretending it couldn't see us before. It was trying to gather intel without scaring us off."

"No," Celeste cut in, her voice still strained with her attempts to hold back her tears. "He was so big when he was a baby. I knew he was going to be big. I taught him, since he was little, to know that he could be scare people and to try to make others comfortable around him. Presence, approach, body language—he's just—" she took a long, shuttered breath and squeezed out the last words. "He's doing what I taught him."

He had kicked around rocks in the tunnel and taken his time approaching, making sure they knew he was coming. He stopped at the stairs when they got nervous and had tried his best to look nonthreatening and disinterested. Rose replayed every move she'd seen him make and the purpose behind it made sense—he was trying to show that he wasn't a predator.

Now he was watching Celeste cry and, even though it was the face of a creature that should terrify her, Rose could feel her heart aching for him. He looked so lost and so hurt. His feet moved a little, and he raised his hands a bit before dropping them again repeatedly.

"Celeste," Rose said quietly. "I think he . . . I think he might want to hug you."

"Sounds like a great fucking idea," Celeste growled with another sniff. She shook her head and blinked repeatedly. "I'm fine. We just have to keep working. Sit down, Dougie."

Doug did as he was told. He let his back slide down the wall behind him, knees bending until they were drawn to his chest. Celeste wiped her eye with the back of her hand, gave her head another shake, and set back to work. A tension hung in the air that had nothing to do with the world outside, heavy with things that simply couldn't be put into words.

The strange moment came to an end when a high-pitched sound echoed from the distance. Rose, Shaun, and Sandra all exchanged glances. Annie and Celeste continued to work furiously. Then they heard the sound again.

"They're in the tunnels," Sandra stated.

Rose felt her heartrate speeding up, fear gripping at her throat. "How long will it take them to get here?"

"Couple minutes. Three? Maybe four or five if they're moving slow."

"They're screeching, which means they're hunting," Shaun added grimly. "They won't be moving slow. You should go Sandra."

Sandra hesitated, looking around the room. Rose hadn't seen her move very quickly yet, but she had a limp that was noticeable when she walked across the room. Running would undoubtedly be difficult and she would never be able to keep up with them. Her only chance was to take whatever head start she could get.

"You're right behind me, yeah?"

"As soon as the ladies are finished," Shaun promised. "Trust me, we aren't staying any later than we have to."

Sandra didn't look relieved at all, but she nodded anyway. "Be safe," she said to the room, snatching up a metal cane that was leaning against her desk. "Be quick."

The sound grew persistent as Sandra disappeared down the other end of the tunnel. By then, there was a constant whine of many voices rather than the occasional scream of one. It had caught Doug's attention and his head twisted towards the tunnel like an owl's, eyes focused. Rose tried to calm herself by trying to work out what was happening in his head. Did he know what the sound was? Did he think of them as friends?

Doug climbed slowly to his feet, eyes still focused on the direction of the tunnel, photograph still in hand. Rose watched as he walked to the edge of the platform, watched as he stood like a black statue and stared down the darkness. He was a skinny thing, lacking the layers of muscle that his counterpart in another world had built, but he was still intimidating to see when he stood like that—tall and broad and solid. Rose knew immediately that Celeste had been right about his earlier behaviour; if he had walked onto the platform like that, they never would have waited.

Doug made a sound. He opened his mouth and his chest moved and a breathy hiss came out of him. Was he calling them?

"Doug, go sit down," Celeste told him. He didn't move. "Get away from there and go sit."

Doug turned back to look at them and made the strange sound again.

" _Douglas_."

"Celeste, focus!" Shaun interrupted.

"We've almost got it." Annie's hands scrambled, picking up the crown and turning it in her around, snatching a tiny metal tool from Celeste. "Rose, start running."

"I'm not running," she answered without a second's thought.

Doug had turned back to the tunnel and hissed again, louder. Then he lifted his chin and his entire body heaved to produce a startlingly loud sound that landed somewhere between a bark and a cough. As the screeches down the tunnel grew louder and closer, Doug kept answering with his own, inhuman sounds.

Celeste was shoving tools and pieces of wire into her pockets while Shaun stole another glance at his computer. "Annabelle," he urged quietly.

The barking stopped. Doug started to hiss again but now it dragged out and didn't stop. A voice began to emerge from the breathy sound and it slowly turned into a high-pitched whine.

"Rose, get the fuck out of here!" Annie barked.

This time she thought about it. She couldn't do anything to help now. She stood a better chance the earlier she left but, still, she couldn't make her feet move. "I'm not leaving you!"

The whine was getting higher and louder. It had started to hurt her ears. Doug's knees had bent and he had leaned forward slightly, his shadowy mouth opening far wider than a human would ever be able to. Suddenly, the sound stopped, and Rose watched as his entire body heaved again in that brief second of silence. Then the air exploded with the loudest, most terrible scream she had ever heard. The sound of it seemed to pierce through her ears and her eyes, reaching the center of her brain and vibrating through her entire body. It ripped through her, threatening to tear her apart.

Annie held the crown in the air and her mouth moved, but Rose couldn't hear her over the awful roar. The other three began to run and Rose rushed to follow them, head swimming and dizzy as the sound continued to fill the tunnel, somehow growing louder by the second.

She jumped down onto the tracks and glanced over her shoulder to where they had left Doug standing, but he didn't look like Doug anymore. The thing that was standing there seemed to be growing and expanding, turning into a mass of black limbs, writhing and reaching out with nothing but a gaping mouth in the middle. It slid down onto the tracks just as the first of the greasy black forms emerged into the light, and Rose watched as the thing that had been Doug reached out, snatched them up, and devoured them.

Shaun and Celeste slowed down a little, letting Rose and Annie get ahead as they pulled their weapons from their hips. Annie was gripping the crown, scrambling with a pair of pliers in her hands as she ran, desperately trying to flatten out a tiny piece of metal. She cried out when she tripped over something and Rose shot forward to catch her. She looked down as she helped Annie regain her balance and saw that she had tripped over a cane.

Her eyes followed the tracks and spotted shoes, clothes, even the dainty silver watch and the pair of gold hooped earrings that Sandra had been wearing. She hadn't heard it over the terrible storm of noise coming from behind them but, as her eyes found it in the dark, she could tell the Neverwas was screaming. Its slick black form writhed and twisted as though in pain, sinking away from them, being dragged into the darkness beyond.

Annie had started to scramble backwards but Rose felt frozen on the spot, not understanding why it would be moving away from them. Was it still her? Did Sandra still know them, like Doug did? Part of her felt the need to pick up her cane and hold it out to her, to help her, but Annie grabbed Rose by the shoulder and yanked her back too.

It was hard to see shadows among shadows, but she noticed a dark fog seeping into the light as they moved away. Fingers of black smoke crept forward patiently, knowing that its prey couldn't escape. Rose saw the metal of the crown glint in the darkness before Harry's shadowy face moved into the light.

The King held the screaming creature that was what was left of Sandra in his hand, smiling as she sunk into his form until she was gone completely. The satisfaction of his meal seemed to pass immediately, his smile vanishing as his eyes snapped forward again. They set on Annie immediately and his dark face filled with the same cold fury she had seen on the Doctor earlier. He reached his hand out towards her and his mouth began to stretch open, like a snake preparing to swallow its prey.

Rose tried not to fall as she scrambled backwards with the group, not knowing what the point of scrambling even was. There was nowhere left to run and nothing to fight with.

Somehow, amidst the deafening screams, the blinding dark, and the paralyzing fear, she noticed that the shadowy hand reaching for them was missing a finger. It was the same finger that might have once held a wedding ring and she knew that it was being presented as a final message.

It was meant to make them realize they were about to die. It was meant to make them know _why_ they were about to die. It was meant to make them think that this was justice.

It was meant to let them know that the Doctor had come for them.


	41. Chapter 41: Kevin

Kevin didn't know what to make of what had happened in the last few hours, but he was daring to allow himself to hope. Doug hadn't said much about what he was doing, but he seemed to be working with newfound energy. The pile of parts in the corner was slowly being constructed into something that looked like more than simple scrap.

Inai had still not woken up, but her vitals were stable. Or, at least, Kevin _thought_ they were stable. It was a little hard to say for certain when he didn't know what species she was.

"I really think we should take her to a doctor," Kevin suggested. He'd brought it up a few times already, but Doug just kept answering the same way.

"I need her here. I'm fixing her."

It was unsettling to hear him talk like that. Kevin knew it wasn't Doug talking, but it wasn't just Edmund talking through him either. The two had somehow synced to a point where they spoke together, as one, like they had melted together to become someone new.

"You wouldn't need to fix her if I took her to a doctor," Kevin tried to argue. "You could focus on your work and someone else could worry about her."

"No. She'd die." Doug stopped moving for a second, holding the tools in his hands in the air as he turned to look at Inai's sleeping form. "She'd die," he repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

"Okay . . . how do we make her not die?"

"I told you, I'm fucking fixing her," Doug answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and set back to work.

Kevin tried to accept that as enough of an answer. He knew he could trust Doug. If Doug said that that was what was best for Inai, then he had no reason to doubt him. Why was it so heavily ingrained in humans to be so disturbed by the thought of a being inhabiting a body it didn't belong in? Why couldn't he shake the feeling that this wasn't good?

"Doug, I'm not really comfortable right now."

Doug glanced over his shoulder. "You feel it too, huh?" he said, smiling despite the sudden weakness in his voice. "It's fucking unsettling, is what it is. I can't pay attention to it though. If I get emotional, we don't stand a chance."

That, oddly enough, actually did make him feel a little better. "Do you really need Edmund to do this? Can't you do it by yourself?"

"Don't know if I'm brave enough."

Kevin blinked. "Pardon?"

"You know, my mum used to say that I gave her the creeps when I acted too serious," Doug said with a shrug. "She'd say weird shit like 'where's my happy boy?' any time I wasn't smiling or running around. I never wanted to upset her so I tried my best. She tried her best too. That's all you can ask, right?"

"Doug, what are you talking about?"

"Celeste did her best—better than both of us," Doug carried on like he hadn't even heard. "Mum couldn't really be a mum so Celeste did it for her. I don't blame mum for it, but I know Celeste hasn't really forgiven her. She worked really fucking hard to raise me and it wasn't fair. I just want to make her proud, you know? I don't want her to think she wasted her childhood."

"Doug." Kevin reached forward and grabbed Doug's shoulder, pulling on it to make him turn. His face was eerily calm, his expression making him look not like himself.

"Everyone says that my mum was fine before she had me," Doug continued, looking at Kevin like he was just talking about the weather. "It was just fucking post partum depression at first. But then my dad died, and it really fucked her up. She didn't like me. I mean, I know she loved me . . . but she didn't like me. It wasn't her fault."

"Why are you talking about your mum?"

Doug smiled sheepishly. "I normally talk to Kel about heavy shit but . . . we kinda have this rule. We don't talk about our mums. No one else knows this stuff." He glanced off to the side, as though he saw someone else there, and then nodded. "Talking helps."

His eyes stayed fixed and Kevin followed his glance to be sure there wasn't something actually there. "Helps with what?" he asked slowly.

"I can just . . ." Doug lifted his hand, gesturing towards his eyes and then at the room, smiling as if he were trying to explain a joke. "It's all there. All at once. It's all just fucking right here and I can see it." He froze then, staring at his hand for a long moment, then his eyes slowly panned upward. "It's okay," he said after another pause. "It's all gonna be okay. I just need to talk a bit to stay calm. Edmund needs me to stay calm."

Kevin didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help. He wasn't even sure what was happening. He remembered what had happened at home, when Harry tried to telepathically link with Edmund. He remembered getting to the med room and seeing the somber look on Kel's face. He'd worked with Kel long enough to know what he looked like when he was concerned.

They couldn't wake Harry at all. He barely even responded to stimulus tests—nearly registering as braindead. For a little while, even though neither of them said it, they didn't think that they could save him.

Doug had continued muttering to himself, staring at the blank space before him. "Could we fix it? I don't think so. Maybe we can. Can we try?" He nodded quickly. "Let's try."

Kevin looked over at Inai, still unconscious on the bed, and remembered the way her body had just started to disintegrate in front of them. She went from perfectly fine to seconds away from death in a heartbeat, and there was nothing they could do to help her.

The same thing that had caused those horrific injuries was residing in Doug's body now. Somehow, it didn't seem that it had injured him yet, but Kevin still didn't feel like he was safe. If it couldn't hold on to Doug, would it keep moving to other people? Would it just go from one person to the next like a disease, killing everyone it touched?

He looked back at Doug's face and realized that his face had gone slack, his eyes unfocused and unblinking.

"Doug?" Kevin grabbed his shoulder again, shaking him a little bit. " _Doug_?" Nothing. Kevin realized that he wasn't even breathing and shook him harder, searching his eyes for a reaction. "Doug!"

He was starting to think of how best to push the big man over in order to give him CPR when Doug blinked and took a breath. "I'm here." He smiled as if he thought Kevin was being silly for looking worried and turned his attention back to the parts he had been putting together.

He nodded quickly, still smiling. "Everything is functioning just fine. Even fixed some stuff I didn't know was broken. Did you know I had fucking cysts on my kidneys? Jesus."

"Okay, you're starting to scare me."

"It's fine. Everything's fine." Doug grinned widely at him, as if that somehow proved it. "I'm doing my best, okay?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." Kevin moved over to the wall so that he could still see Doug's face as he worked. "But something is happening with you right now and I don't understand it. I'm just scared and I would like to understand it, okay?"

Doug nodded slowly, eyes on his work, hands moving swiftly and with confidence. "Do you know that dolphins can precisely aim their echolocation?"

Kevin's shoulders dropped. "Doug, what the fuck?"

"No, no, hold on a second," Doug answered quickly. "This is relevant."

"Please explain how that's relevant."

"Okay. So, there was this aquarium that ran an experiment with their dolphins, right? They set up a screen with little microphones in their tank and they'd project different symbols on it for shit like different kinds of fish. The dolphins learned to aim their echolocation beams at the symbols to order what they wanted for lunch."

"Okay . . ." Kevin blinked a few times. "I'm going to repeat my previous question. Doug, what the fuck?"

"Humans and dolphins are just equipped too fucking differently to communicate," Doug blurted with a shake of his head. "We live in entirely different environments and have completely different bodies. How the fuck are we ever supposed to ask a dolphin what it wants for lunch?"

"Well, it sounds like you set up a screen with microphones."

" _Exactly_."

Kevin sighed and pinched the space between his eyebrows. "Okay, Doug—"

"It's _relevant_ ," he interrupted. "The humans adapted their technology to go under water, where the dolphins could see it. The dolphins learned to use their echolocation to use that technology. Both sides had to adapt and learn to make it work. To anyone who didn't know what they were doing, it would look crazy. People would be wondering why they're spending so much time trying to set shit up underwater and projecting random symbols, and dolphins would be wondering why their buddies keep echolocating a fucking wall. They'd all be muttering to each other—is he blind? Does he not know it's a wall? Meanwhile, he's the only dolphin that gets to choose between fucking mackerel or squid."

Kevin took a minute to take it all in, nodding slowly. "And you're the dolphin that's echolocating the wall."

"Damn right," Doug answered with a firm nod. "And I'm having fucking squid." He looked up at Kevin then, inspecting his face. "Squid is home," he explained. "We're going home."

"I got that part."

Doug shrugged. "Well, you didn't get the rest so . . ."

Kevin's mind wondered back home to Jack, remembering what it felt like to find out about the infection. He'd been so worried about what it meant. Was it hurting him? Was it killing him? He remembered leaving work early, going home and expecting that Jack would be losing his mind over the stress, expecting to spend the evening trying to keep him calm.

Instead, when he got home, Jack was fine. He was sitting in the back garden, having a cigarette. He looked a little sheepish and, before Kevin said anything, promised that he'd try to quit soon. They made dinner together and ate outside and didn't talk much. Jack sometimes had a vacant look in his eyes like he was daydreaming. Kevin asked him what he was thinking and he said that he wasn't—he said that he was learning to be "okay with it". Jack had another cigarette and Kevin had a beer. He could practically hear the cogs turning in Jack's head and he kept waiting for something to happen—an anxiety attack, a fit of anger, _something_ —but nothing did. Jack took his meds and they climbed into bed early to watch TV.

He spent the whole evening thinking that something was wrong. He spent hours worrying that Jack's behaviour was a signal that he was giving up somehow—spending one day relaxing and doing nothing while they still could. It had frightened him, even more because Jack wouldn't talk about it. Kevin was so busy worrying that Jack wasn't communicating with him, that he didn't stop to think that he might be learning to communicate with the creature in his head.

"Was Jack trying to adapt?" he found himself asked aloud.

"No," Doug answered with a frown. "No, _J.J._ Yes. Sorry, Edmund doesn't call him Jack. Yeah . . . Yeah, he tried."

"Was it working?"

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "A little. He's not as compatible, so it's harder."

Kevin didn't really know what use that information was to him. He didn't even know why he asked. It didn't really mean anything or change anything, except maybe that he didn't have to worry about him giving up. That was a relief, at least. He supposed it meant that he could better understand what Jack was going through, to better help him.

"Sorry. Kev, could you back up a little, please?"

Kevin pulled out of his train of thought and looked at Doug curiously. "Pardon?"

"You're, uh . . . contaminating me."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "I'm contami—"

"You're fucking up my echolocation," Doug blurted out with a flustered wave of his hand. "Just go over there."

Kevin moved to the far side of the room and sat down on the floor, settling in against the wall and getting comfortable. He kept telling himself that Doug would have the engine running soon. It was only a matter of time before they got to go home. He was going to find Annie and give her the strongest hug he'd ever given her, maybe even lift her off the ground and swing her around a little to make her laugh. He was going to find the Captain and tell him that he needed to leave, at least for a little while. He was going to find Jack and take him home. He was going to make dinner with him and sit in the backyard. He was going to have a beer and say nothing about health while Jack had a smoke. And then he was going to talk to him. He was going to say everything and he was going to ask about moving in together again—properly, in their own place. He was going to explain how it would be different this time and why it would work. He was going to make him feel safe.

Somehow, when he thought about the sun on his skin and the smell of smoke in the air, he just couldn't bring himself to give a shit about the Bad Wolf. He didn't want to go home because the world might end. He just wanted to go home.

"Kevin."

Kevin opened his eyes with a start to find Doug towering over him. He must have fallen asleep. He groaned as he shifted, realizing immediately that both his legs had lost circulation and gone completely numb. He looked up, blinking the sleep away, and saw Doug grinning down at him.

"Don't you need to be over there?" he asked, gesturing towards the other side of the room. "What about your echolocation?"

"I fucking did it, mate."

"Did what?"

"I built the engine."

"You did _what_?" Kevin tried to get to his feet, but his legs weren't prepared for it. He wobbled and lost his balance, but Doug caught him easily with one arm.

"Fucking _look_ ," Doug whispered excitedly.

It still looked like a heap of scrap metal but at least now it all seemed to be in one piece. Kevin felt his heart speed up, pounding away in his chest like it was trying to run away without him.

"Does it work?"

"Fuck, yeah, it works."

He almost didn't believe it. "How do you know?"

"A void engine is like tying a knot to Edmund—he understands the way space and time interact across the universes so well that it's like instinct to him—and I know how to build computers and shit," Doug explained proudly. "Trust me. It fucking works."

"Well, let's—I mean, what are we—just . . ." Kevin tripped over his own words. This was it, right in front of him. They could go home! He replayed the scenario in his head of what he was going to do when he got back, realizing that he could be doing it in _minutes_. In an hour, he could be sitting in the garden with Jack, having dinner and enjoying the sun. He gestured his hand towards the machine as he stammered, wanting nothing more than for Doug to skip the theatrics and get on with it.

It wasn't until Doug actually walked towards the machine that Kevin's eye caught on the sleeping form on one of the beds.

"What about Inai?" he asked.

Doug glanced in her direction and shrugged. "We take her with us."

"We can't just take her."

Doug shrugged again. "If we don't, she'll die."

"Doug!"

Doug sighed. "Look, we can take her with us and bring her back when she's better or we can wait and fucking sit around here for another week. What do you want?"

He wanted to go home.

"We can bring her back?"

"Yeah!" Doug pointed to a part of the machine he'd built—a tiny circular piece that Kevin recognized as the device that brought them there in the first place. "This little fucker has the coordinates to this place and I found out how to access it. We can come back whenever we want. You wanna go shopping or some shit—just pop on back for a couple hours, no problem. We can bring her back once she's recovered."

It was wrong. Kevin knew it was wrong. It was basically kidnapping and Inai would probably be terrified when she woke up. But he just wanted to go _home_.

He started telling himself that it was the responsible thing to do. The Bad Wolf was on the move and the universe was at stake. They needed to get back as soon as they could or risk the lives of literally _everyone_. Surely Inai could forgive them a few days away from home for the sake of such an emergency?

He knew he was fooling himself, but he decided to run with it. It was responsible. It was reasonable. They'd bring her back as soon as it was safe. Really, they just didn't have another choice.

Kevin gave a quick nod. "Okay," he said, trying to sound confident. "Let's go home."

Doug grinned and activated the machine.


	42. Chapter 42: Nista

Nista wasn't sure if Ganbri knew where he was going or if he was wandering aimlessly. It would be easy to get lost in the Academy, if they weren't lost already. He wasn't sure he could find his way back if he turned back now.

He saw things in the shadows sometimes, catching shifts of light or movement out of the corner of his eyes. The Master had told them that the Doctor would never fill the Academy with soldiers or weapons, but with monsters. Nista knew that Ganbri wanted to argue that, but all he did was tense his jaw and stay silent. They both had seen what he kept in the TARDIS. They both knew what he had unleashed on Kahlia's ship.

The Master had assured them that the things that lived there now wouldn't harm them as long as they showed no signs of aggression. Still, it was not an easy feeling to know something was watching.

Ganbri had stopped to stare into a giant glass orb that was on display, leaning forward with wide eyes and hands daring themselves to touch it. Nista stayed in the shadows, far enough down the hall to likely go unnoticed, and watched.

He hadn't meant to follow Ganbri in secret. He saw his friend sneak away from everyone else while the dorms were assigned for sleeping, and followed him out of habit. He struggled to keep up for a little while, keeping quiet so that they didn't get caught. It wasn't until they'd turned their third corner and Ganbri still hadn't slowed down or looked back that Nista realized he hadn't noticed he wasn't alone. Now, he didn't really know what to do with himself other than to keep following him and make sure he stayed safe.

Ganbri stared into the orb for a long time, bending his body and taking tiny steps to move around it. It was large enough for several grown humans to fit inside, so Nista supposed there must be plenty to look at. He leaned against the wall and tried to get comfortable, but simply couldn't.

From a shadowed alcove in the wall, he felt eyes hungry eyes resting on him and imagined teeth in the dark. Whatever was watching him wasn't leaving. This place was unfamiliar to him and the thing that watched him was a mystery in itself. Every instinct in him told him to bare his teeth, to raise a weapon, to snarl and lash out. If the Master was correct, all of that could get him killed.

And then, like a puzzle piece sliding into place, he realized he wasn't actually afraid of it. It made him uncomfortable and he wanted it to go away, but his heart was still and his mind was calm. He realized that it didn't know what he was either. As it watched him, he lurked in the shadows and watched it back. The teeth in the dark were his own.

As if someone else were moving his legs, he found himself stepping towards the dark corner. There was no discernable shape, but the darkness there was unnatural enough to give away the presence of another being.

When he moved into the blackness, it felt like slipping into cold water. It chilled him to the bone and it felt as though he was becoming weightless, his feet toying with the idea of leaving the floor. Something moved over him, like a hundred tiny snakes slithering over his skin and through his hair, feeling him and getting to know him. There was a curiosity to it and then, quite suddenly, it stopped. All of the movement ceased instantaneously, the swirling darkness freezing and becoming perfectly still.

Slowly, he felt movement across his face, across his mouth, over his eyes. There was a hesitation to it that reminded him of how it felt when he saw Utihn-Nista laying at their Mother's feet, wanting to reach out to touch her and not wanting to at the same time. He knew she would be too still, maybe even too cold, and yet he had to touch her anyway. He remembered looking up at the red light of Ru'ahn, _knowing_ and hoping he was wrong.

Suddenly the darkness dissolved around him, disappearing into wisps of smoke and leaving nothing but the cold sensation on his skin.

He stood there for a moment, in the shadow of the alcove, breathing and feeling the warmth slowly come back to him. When he looked up, he saw the Master. He had kept his distance, leaning against the wall with a good fifteen feet between them, but his eyes were wide and full of energy.

"I thought you might be dead for a while there."

"It only touched me for a few seconds," Nista answered with a shake of his head. He stepped out of the alcove and peered around the corner. Ganbri was gone.

" _You_ touched _it_ ," the Master corrected, sounding almost excited. "And it's been three hours."

" _What_?" Nista whipped his head around again, looking down the hall towards the glass orb, thinking that he'd somehow be able to see a trail telling him where Ganbri went. He'd been alone for _three hours_? He could be anywhere by now.

"Ganbri is fine," the Master said quickly. "Tass went after him. She's going to show him around a little, answer his questions."

"And you . . ." Nista raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You stood here for three hours?"

There was that look in his eyes again—that energy, like he was expecting something exciting. "It's a rare thing to see someone go toe-to-toe with a time wraith. Rarer still to see them survive. What the hell compelled you to go after it?"

"I didn't go after it," he answered quickly, scowling. "It was watching me. I wanted it to leave me alone."

"The apex predator drives out the competition and claims the territory for himself," the Master said with a smile, speaking as though he were narrating a documentary. Then his smile spread to a grin. "The Doctor called you the Fleshcloak—interesting name. Actually . . . I believe he called you a god of war."

"He was talking about Ganbri," he said with a shake of his head. "They call him the Star, or the Haephsian Sun. They think he's a god, not me. I'm just another one of the soldiers."

"No." The Master held up one correcting finger, his grin lingering. "You're the Fleshcloak. That doesn't sound like a solider to me."

"I don't even know that name. Where ever he got it, it's not where I'm from. It must be another universe."

"I had considered that," the Master responded, nodding slowly and looking thoughtful all of a sudden. "So many universes. So many names. But, you see, a time wraith is a creature that protects the integrity of a time stream—it's like they're breeding ground and they don't want you stomping through the nest. They attack those who threaten to change time, or sometimes just those unlucky enough to walk into them, and, well . . . _remove_ you from the time stream. That is, unless removing you from the time stream would cause more damage than leaving you in it. That one just ran away from you. Time wraiths don't run away from soldiers. They don't even run away from generals."

"They run away from gods?" Nista asked the question with a tone of derision, but it didn't seem to bother the Master in the slightest. He just stood there, eyes full of light and a smirk on his face.

"You smoke, right?"

Instinctively, he reached for his pocket. His cigarettes had gotten wet when they landed on their first jump and he threw them away at the Master's base.

"Trying to quit," he muttered in response.

"That's a shame. I haven't had a cigarette in a few centuries now and I know they keep some in the Human Empire Antiquities collection. I'm gonna go nick some."

Nista took a moment to consider the man before him. So much of him was like Harry, and yet there was something else that simply wasn't him at the same time. He looked at him differently.

"Why do I feel like I'm getting conned?"

"You are," the Master answered with a shrug. "But we'll get to that part later. Right now, I'm just suggesting we steal from my old school and have a well-deserved smoke break. No strings attached. You can walk away at any time."

With that, the Master turned on his heel and strode off. Nista watched him go, scowling in his direction and thinking of just walking away. The Master was trouble, he could tell that much, and he had just admitted that he was being manipulative. Surely, the smart thing to do would be to not take the bait?

He told himself he just wanted a smoke. He didn't have his medication here and he doubted he'd be able to get a wink of sleep in the night. He had a better chance of sleep if he could calm himself with a cigarette first. He'd just get what he wanted and leave then.

Even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie.

The Master had a charisma to him that drew out curiosity, and that curiosity seemed to be stronger than sense. Nista just kept reminding himself over and over that he could walk away at any time and hurried after the Time Lord.

"You know, it's quite possible that you're the only one of your kind to ever see the Academy," the Master said as he walked. "Possible you're the only one to see Gallifrey even. What do you think of my homeworld?"

Nista wasn't sure how to answer. There was a war raging outside and the Academy appeared to be well past its glory days. There weren't many responses he could give that would be polite.

"It's colder than I thought it'd be."

"I suppose it is cold. We have snow most of the year." The Master took a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh. "So, do you want to talk now or do you want to wait?"

Nista frowned and hesitated, unsure of what he meant.

"We can keep up the pretense and talk about weather and the war and all kinds of things, but we both know we're only filling the silence. There's no need to wait if you don't want to. We can walk and talk at the same time."

"I don't understand."

"I saw into your head. It's a mess in there. You need to get it sorted out. As one of the people who might die if you fuck things up when you get home, I recognize that helping you is in my best interest."

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't think—"

"Don't call me 'sir'," the Master responded with an irritated wave of his hand. "And you'd be amazed what saying something out loud can achieve. You'll be leaving soon, probably tomorrow, so you'll never have to see me again and my knowing your secrets will have no affect on you or anyone you know. Not to mention that I've lived literally dozens of your lifetimes. Do you really think I might not have any knowledge of value?"

They were good points, he supposed. He could think of several times that he had tried to approach Harry, Jack, or even the Doctor with some of the things that had been weighing on him because he knew that their lengthy life experiences meant they were far more equipped than him, but he always backed out. For some reason, the thought of them hearing him seemed unbearable. It always seemed easier to stay quiet.

"I . . . wouldn't know where to start."

"We could start with the Doctor's insights. For all his foolishness, he's actually one of the smartest people I know," the Master answered without a moment's hesitation. "Are you still afraid to die?"

The question came as a surprise. Nista's first thought was to say that of course he was but, when he took a moment to think about it, it just didn't seem true. He had been scared on the battlefield, yes, and he had been frustrated when Ganbri seemed to forget that he could die so much easier than him but . . . it just wasn't the same, was it? He wasn't looking over his shoulder. He wasn't constantly thinking about all the things that could go wrong. He wasn't obsessing over his mistakes, thinking about how they would have gotten him killed under different circumstances.

"I suppose not," he answered hesitantly. "I don't know when that happened."

"Right. What would you say you _are_ afraid of then?"

His mind shot back to the image of staring down at his hands in water, seeing a drop of blood splash into it. He thought of the way the sunlight peered around the dark mass in the sky, like a monster peering around the corner at him. He thought of red flowers bursting to life.

"I don't know."

The Master grinned. "There's not much point in lying to me," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice. "I could always grab you by the throat again and find out for myself."

Nista scowled at him. "I don't think that's considered helping someone."

"It is when you're on a tight schedule. We have tonight and, truth be told, I had other plans. I'd appreciate it if you took this endeavour seriously and didn't waste either of our time."

He remembered the warmth on his skin and the way the water stirred. He remembered red, spreading and conquering. So much red.

His mouth went dry and suddenly he felt very small. He followed the Master with his eyes turned to the ground. He felt like a child again, feeling lost and ashamed at his inability to communicate—to _function_ —when everyone else seemed able to do it do effortlessly.

"Tell you what," the Master said, slowing his steps as they approached a door. "I'll tell you a little story first." He turned to look Nista in the eye then, waiting for his nod of agreement before stepping backwards against the door. He pushed against it and it swung open to reveal a large room inside, filled with row upon row of bookshelves.

Nista thought the room might be a sort of library until he realized that the shelves were stocked with all manner of every-day Earth items. The Master led him past shelves filled with cutlery, phones, and cosmetics. When he looked up, he saw chandeliers and ceiling fans of every kind hanging above them. It looked endless, but the Master navigated it as easily as he would his own home.

"My father was somewhat of an important man, you see. Very ambitious," the Master began, not looking back as he guided Nista through the history of humanity's inventions. "He made it clear to my siblings and me very early in life that he had plans for us. We were to help build his reputation, expand upon his work, make his name shine brighter than ever before. We weren't meant to have our own lives; we were only to be a part of _his_ success." He stopped walking abruptly, glancing at the shelf to his left and searching it. "Here we are."

They'd reached a shelf that had a variety of tobacco products, including long pipes that looked to have been roughly carved from wood by hand and covered in different cultural designs. When the Master's hand reached forward, it pushed against something that hadn't been visible before. The light bent and stretched, like he was pushing through the wall of a bubble, until it gave way and let him reach through, wrapping around his wrist instead. He picked a pack of cigarettes from the several that were there along with a matchbox.

"I grew up being afraid that my father would take my life. Not in the way that most people are when they say that, understand. I didn't believe that he'd hurt me, but I believed that I would never have free will." That Master ripped open the pack and quickly popped a cigarette in his mouth, letting it hang lazily and bob on his lips as he spoke. "My earliest memories are of feeling suffocated by him. I had no choices. My future was really his future. My life was just an extension of his own. I was overwhelmed by the fear that I would never be in control of anything."

Nista took a cigarette when the Master handed him the pack, blinking as he absorbed the words. "But . . . but that didn't happen to you." He found himself smiling awkwardly, feeling like he was missing some kind of joke. Why was the Master telling him this? "No one ever controlled you. I mean . . . isn't that what you're famous for?"

The Master took a long time lighting his cigarette, breathing in deep, holding the smoke for a long moment before letting it out in a drawn-out exhale. This man wasn't Harry, but he was close enough for Nista to know the look in his eyes. He was uncomfortable all of a sudden, clearly rethinking his willingness to offer information.

"You're called the _Master_ ," he added, as if that would somehow clear up the confusion.

The Master laughed then, but it was a laugh that had no joy in it. He shook his head, took another drag, and grinned.

"You don't think a name like that is overcompensating for something?"

Nista felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath him. Harry was always in control. He was always willing to listen and change his mind but Nista had never seen _anything_ that suggested he wasn't in control. The man before him had given him the exact same impression—calm, intelligent, and capable.

"I don't understand."

The Master lit another match and held it out without a word. Nista hurriedly put his own cigarette in his mouth and leaned forward to light it. He let the smoke fill his lungs as he watched the Master shake the match until the fire vanished, waiting to hear him speak again.

"That thing we found the Doctor in front of—do you know what that is?"

Nista nodded.

"And you know . . . you know what it did to Kahlia—the Nightmare, the Doctor called her. You've met my Kahlia. Does she strike you as the kind of woman who would murder her brothers? Murder _me_?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, sir."

"Please, don't call me that," the Master answered quickly.

"Sorry."

Another hesitation. Another long, purposeful drag. "The Untempered Schism changes people. It can drive you mad. You see things and feel things and suddenly you feel like you've seen the world for the first time and you speak some kind of new language that you never knew before. You have this moment of perfect clarity and _nothing_ will convince you that what you saw isn't undeniably true."

There was something different in his voice when he said those words, and Nista suddenly felt like he shouldn't be there. He shouldn't be hearing this. Harry wouldn't want him hearing this. He might be angry if he found out.

"If my little girl looks into that thing, it could turn her into the Nightmare. Killing her brothers is not a choice she would make, and yet she has in other worlds, over and over again." The Master paused to give himself a little shake of his shoulders, clearing his throat before continuing. "When I was a boy, I looked into the Schism. Do you know what happened?"

Nista had to try twice before any words came out. "The drums."

The Master smiled at him, looking pleased. "Yeah," he said with a quick nod. "I ignored them at first, spent the next two hundred years of my life attached to the Doctor's hip. _He_ was free, and I always knew he was going to leave Gallifrey and everything it stood for, so I followed him everywhere. I had him in mind for every decision I made, compromised what I wanted so that it didn't interfere. Once my schoolboy crush on him faded, I looked at the way I'd been living and suddenly became afraid that I was letting _him_ control me, and that I wasn't free after all. It was then that I really started listening to the drumming and paying attention to what I thought they meant."

Harry rarely mentioned the drumming. When he did, he looked sad or tired.

"You thought they were a call to war."

"Of course!" the Master said with another laugh. "Why wouldn't they be? Never mind my own life, I was meant to control the whole universe, obviously! Remember what I said about that overcompensating thing? Now let me ask you a question. If I based every decision I made off of some outside source that I thought was calling to me, was I really making my own decisions?"

"I suppose not," Nista muttered with a nod of understanding.

"I was so afraid of not being in control that I ran gleefully into a locked cage and it took me _centuries_ to figure that out." The Master dropped the butt of his cigarette on the floor and stamped it out, pausing for a moment before taking a new one out and perching it on his lips. "That's not even the worst part. Remember what the Doctor told you about your fear changing?"

He nodded, stamping out his own cigarette as he waited for the Master to light his new one.

"Your life is like a series of roads that have been carved out by your other selves. You can blaze your own trail, sure, but you're most likely to end up on the same path as many others. You can gain new fears if you end up on a path that will lead you to that reality, and you can lose them if you've managed to pass the thing that frightened you. I stopped being terrified of not having control because it had already happened to me and I just didn't know it. Suddenly, I was so aware of all the people that had turned their backs on me or forgotten me. The Doctor got married, my father had no interest in a renegade son, my family and my old friends were hesitant to be associated with me, given the rumours that had started. It hurt more than I would have ever expected. Out of nowhere, I couldn't handle the thought of being left alone."

He paused again, taking some time to browse the shelf in front of him a little bit. He reached through the barrier to tinker with some of the objects there, smoking in silence until he was ready to carry on.

"I didn't want to go home. I didn't answer any communication I received from the people who loved me. I thought they couldn't leave me if I left them behind first." Suddenly his voice got much louder and his mouth spread to a grim looking grin. "And then guess what fucking happened?"

Nista wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer. He didn't even know what he would say if he did answer. He hadn't a clue. Harry never talked about his life this way. These were the kinds of conversations he had with Jack late at night, that stopped abruptly when they heard Nista prowling through the house. He'd get that burdened look in his eyes and make some joke about old men reliving the past and needing to get over it already before changing the subject.

"I fell in love."

Nista's eyes shot up. He hadn't expected to hear that. Whenever Harry mentioned falling in love, he was talking about the Doctor. He'd loved him since they were kids, and he fell in love again after The Year That Never Was. Aside from the Doctor, Harry mentioned brief infatuations or meaningless relationships, but that was it.

"I know," the Master said, raising his eyebrows and nodding as though he agreed with the shock on Nista's face. "I didn't mean to. It just happened. I fell and I fell _hard_. Does your Harry use knives when he fights?"

Nista nodded quickly. "He taught me."

The Master smiled, almost sadly, and pulled a knife from his belt, twirling it around his fingers with expert grace as he spoke. "I knew fuck all about fighting when I left Gallifrey," he said quietly. "I hired someone to protect me from the many enemies I was acquiring. He was good with any weapon you put in his hands, but he _loved_ knives. He said that fighting with knives was like dancing and that, even if I never wanted to be a fighter, I should at least know how to dance."

Nista's eyes shot to the ground again. Harry had said that to him once. When he was young and getting some of his first lessons from Harry, he told him to think of dancing when he fought with knives. He had to know his steps ahead of time, predict exactly where his partner was going to be, and move with fluid speed. Put a knife in each hand, he said, and learn to dance.

He shouldn't know this.

"I was with him for years and it was the happiest I'd ever been. The more I loved him, the more terrified I was that he'd leave me behind one day. Eventually, the fear was stronger than the love, so I left first." He paused, scratching at the stubble on his face and breathing the smoke in deep. "It was the biggest mistake I ever made. Sometimes, I still kind of hope that he'll show up out of nowhere and it'll be like I never left." He smiled—a real, genuine smile—and then dropped his voice much lower, changing his accent slightly. " 'We fighting a war now, Boss? You point and I'll shoot.' "

"He called you Boss?"

"Yeah," the Master chuckled. "Wouldn't call me Master because he said working for me was his choice, then told me it was a stupid fucking name anyway."

Nista allowed himself to chuckle a little, thankful for something to help lighten the mood. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Ah, it didn't happen to me, did it? I did it to my fucking self," the Master plucked his cigarette from his mouth and pointed a finger at Nista. "My point is that I was so consumed with my fears that I made them happen. I gave up all the control in my life, gave up all the things I really wanted, and wound up alone because I was too afraid. I didn't figure it out until Kahlia was born. I suddenly had to choose between loving my daughter and not allowing myself to be vulnerable. I chose to love her, and, just like that, my life was suddenly mine again."

His second cigarette was spent. He dropped it on the floor with the other and scratched at his stubble again.

Nista thought about all the pieces of information he'd gathered from his own world and applied them to the Master's story. Maybe the fact that the Master had never been in love with the Doctor was what made him choose his daughter over what he thought was his destiny. He wondered what Harry would say if he knew how different his life would be if he'd just made that one decision differently. How different would this Master's life be if he'd chosen to not leave the man he loved? Surely, there was a universe where he hadn't.

"You're brave," the Master said quietly. "That's why you're alive. You were terrified of death but it never stopped you from acting. You stepped up, you worked hard, you fought. If you had cowered and hidden from death, it would have found you anyway, and you'd be dead."

Nista took a long moment to roll those words around in his head. He thought about how he used to feel whenever he faced something dangerous or unknown. It was the kind of fear that reached right into the center of him and grabbed tight, trying it's hardest to crush him from the inside out until he couldn't breathe. It was how he felt he woke up and saw the hideous wound wrapped around his head. It was how he felt when he saw that shadowed planet hanging in the sky. It was how he felt when he saw a sea of scarlet petals.

He nodded his head in the direction of the pack on the shelf and the Master quickly handed it to him. He didn't realize his hands were shaking until he pulled a cigarette out and struggled to place it in his lips. Without a word, the Master took it from his hands, placed it in his own mouth and lit it, taking a quick drag before handing it back. Nista gave him a nod of thanks and breathed the smoke in deep.

"We landed on Ru'ahn," he said, his voice coming out weaker than he would have thought. "Ganbri doesn't know. I didn't tell him. I basically yelled at him that we were leaving and hit the teleporter again. That's how we wound up here."

The Master grinned. "Did you ever think it would be so beautiful?"

His eyes widened and he found himself at a loss for words. Of all the comments he thought the Master might make, that wasn't one of them.

"Beautiful . . .?"

"Yeah. I saw it." The Master put a finger to his temple and smiled. "Crystal clear water. Sunrise. Red flowers everywhere. What's not beautiful about it?"

"It's . . ." Nista stammered a little, tripping over his own voice as he tried to find the words. "My people believed that Ru'ahn was evil."

"Sure, they did. But now you know it's a moon covered in pretty red flowers." The Master shrugged and grabbed a third cigarette for himself but didn't bother to grab the matches. "I thought the drumming was a cosmic call to greatness. Now I know it's just a noise."

"But you said it yourself . . . the Doctor called me a god of war."

"And _you_ called _Ganbri_ a god of war," the Master cut in quickly. "You don't think he's evil, do you?"

"Of course not." He didn't even have to think about that.

"I'll tell you what I saw today. I saw The Haephsian Sun, a supposed god, freak the fuck out and try to kill my daughter. We couldn't stop him. You saw us—we were trying. Several professionally trained Time Lords could do absolutely nothing to hold him back. And then you ran up to him, without the slightest hesitation, and _you_ stopped him."

"But that wasn't—that was . . ." He tried to think of a simple way to explain what happened, only to realize that he didn't know. What _did_ happen?

"You're afraid to have power," the Master said with finality. "You're so used to following others that you fight against your natural ability to lead. Something in you gave you the power to stop Ganbri in his tracks. Some part of you guided your teleport to Ru'ahn. Going against Kahlia changed you and you're fighting that change as hard as you can. There's no reason to be afraid of being stronger. There's no reason to be afraid of not being a follower anymore."

He'd hated the wound on his head from the moment he first saw it. His Mother would have shunned him for it. His family would have devoured him. It was an evil mark and it was unacceptable to the Alreesh. He'd tried to keep it covered with his hair, to hide it from the world, but he couldn't keep it clean and it wouldn't heal. It itched and he scratched at it and it tore. It just wouldn't heal. It wasn't until the Master shaved his hair away and put the wound on display for all the world to see that it finally stopped feeling so irritated. He could already tell that it had finally begun to heal.

"I don't know what choice you need to make," the Master added gently. "You just need to know to not make that choice out of fear. You have to keep being brave. Think about what _you_ actually want and fuck everybody else."

His mind raced home, to Jack, Kevin, Annie, Harry, the Doctor, to the home he grew up in and to Torchwood headquarters. He thought of sitting on his homeworld, looking up at Ru'ahn turning red in the sun. He thought of standing in the sun on Ru'ahn, looking up at his homeworld swallowed in darkness. He thought of the battlefields he'd stood on and the blood he'd tasted. He thought about the image of his eye being projected in the sky and the mass evacuation of the Alreesh people. He thought of the way his Mother looked at him for the last time when she was dragged away. He thought of Ganbri, surging with raw, violent energy, and suddenly turning all of it towards protecting him instead. He thought about falling asleep watching crime shows and of washing dishes.

"Thank you," he found himself saying.

The Master gave him a nod in return. He didn't say anything for a while, giving Nista time to turn over the thoughts in his head, and then finally lit the cigarette he'd been holding onto.

"So listen," he started, pausing to breathe in and be sure that he had Nista's attention. "Now that we've gone over that whole thing, I wanted to ask you about something."

Nista felt a tiny shadow of dread creeping up on him, but found himself smiling anyway. "I forgot. You wanted something."

"I'm a selfish man with selfish desires," the Master answered with a shrug. "Just keep in mind that you can still walk away whenever you want. You don't owe me anything for a pep talk. You helped me take the Academy and you're gonna save all our asses when you get home so . . . we're on even ground, yeah?"

Nista nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah."

"Wanna fuck?"

Nista wasn't even inhaling and, somehow, he managed to choke. He coughed, tried to stop it, failed, and coughed some more. He managed to nick the back of his hand on one of his fangs and felt blood rush to his face in embarrassment as he spluttered.

"Careful now or I might get offended," the Master chuckled.

"I'm sorry," Nista answered quickly, coughing a couple more times. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—what?"

The Master shrugged again, smoke pouring out between his teeth as he grinned. "We're at war, mate. Anyone I get to interact with is either my enemy or under my command. It's not exactly the easiest environment for a single bloke, okay?"

Nista felt like he'd just been ejected from reality. This had to be some sort of dream. What would Ganbri say? What would Kevin say? Holy shit, what would _Harry_ say?

He kept trying to talk but his words just wouldn't seem to come out right. "I don't—I'm not—"

The Master waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I know, but once you're in there it all feels the same."

Suddenly it felt way too hot in the room and Nista resisted the urge to pull at his shirt collar. He wasn't entirely sure if he was breathing either. All he could think about was trying to construct some kind of answer and finding his vocabulary infuriatingly empty.

The Master had his eyebrows raised and a wicked grin spread across his face. "Hey, nobody ever needs to know about it. I don't mind being a dirty little secret. And you might like to know that Time Lords are much sturdier than humans—I can take a bite or two if you're into that."

Nista instinctively brought his hand up to cover his teeth, the image of what had just been suggested surging into his brain. The Master simply laughed and carried on.

"Maybe you want to get back at me for grabbing you by the throat. I don't know. Maybe you _liked_ me grabbing you by the throat. It doesn't even have to be sex. I know Alreesh don't usually like sleeping alone, so I'm even happy to cuddle if that's all you want." He stepped forward then, moving closer and dropping his voice to something just above a whisper. "Listen, if you've ever _wondered_ about it, here's your chance to try it out without having to worry about any consequences. We're not going to see each other again. There's no friendship to ruin. If you don't like it, then it's just our little secret, isn't it? If it turns out that boys aren't so scary after all, well, maybe that just makes some other parts of life a little easier to work out. Plus, it would give us a chance to talk a bit about some of those other parts."

Nista cleared his throat, hoping against hope that his face didn't look as red as it felt. "I appreciate the offer," he said quietly.

The Master just kept smiling at him. He took one last drag on his cigarette, sighed happily, and dropped it on the ground.

"I'm glad we had this talk. I hope you find it helpful," he said happily. He picked up the pack of cigarettes and the match box, gave them a little shake to show that he had them, and slipped them into his pocket. "I'm heading to my room for the night. I'll be there if you change your mind."

Nista gave him a quick nod and a half-hearted smile in response and stood there, frozen, as the Master marched off. He stayed there even after he was gone, staring at the floor and thinking while he finished his smoke.

Kevin wouldn't be happy about him smoking. He'd been trying not to nag but Nista knew that he hated it. He kept promising that he was going to quit soon. He supposed he didn't have any more cigarettes at home. He could try to quit when he got back.

He ran his fingers through hair, being reminded with a start that part of his head had been shaved. He started wondering what Kevin would think of that too. What would he think if he heard about what the Master had said and done? He cut his hair, told him secrets, encouraged him to break away from being a follower, and then . . .

He found himself staring at the cigarette butts on the floor that the Master had left behind. It seemed strange to leave something like that on the floor of a building that was held in such high regard. The Academy was legendary—it felt like sacrilege to steal cigarettes from it and leave the butts on the floor.

Then again, who would ever know?

"Fuck," he growled under his breath and tossed his own cigarette on the floor. He felt his cheeks flushing again as he stamped it out, and he felt them burning even hotter as he walked towards the exit.


	43. Chapter 43: Kelevra

In all his moments of forgetfulness and all his moments of confusion, this one felt the most surreal. Kel knew that he should be more concerned, but he was too fascinated by the experience to bring himself to worry.

The snow easily came up his knees, his sky was dark and grey, and the wind whipped the trees viciously. Normally, he would have dashed outside to feed the livestock as quickly as possibly and then run back into the tavern to root himself firmly in front of the fire. But today, he could feel the sun. He was beginning to sweat beneath his coat and he could swear that the wind barely even stirred his clothes.

He began to slowly pull at his scarf, untangling it from himself and exposing his neck to the air, but he didn't feel the sting of winter biting his bare skin. It was warm. He started to unbutton his coat, half his mind telling him that this is a late symptom of hypothermia and the other half telling him he hadn't been outside long enough to be hypothermic. What If he had forgotten how long he had been outside? Would Bridget have noticed if he'd been gone for hours?

He glanced over his shoulder towards the tavern. It was a clear view from where he was standing and it wasn't very far. If his host collapsed in the snow, someone would see him.

He shrugged out of his coat quickly and began removing the layers of clothing over his body, knowing full well that he should be getting colder by the second. He stopped when he got to his undershirt, holding his arms out a little and pausing to look down at himself. The shirt was oversized and baggy on him, but the wind still didn't paw at it with the same anger that it showed everything else. The cloth barely moved as he stood there, swaying gently against him. He felt the sweat on his skin cool in the exposure to the air, but he still wasn't cold.

He could smell pollen in the air. He could hear birds twittering to each other and the buzz of insects. When he looked to the trees, he saw grass and wildflowers beneath the snow. It was all there and it wasn't, like each of his eyes was seeing a different world.

"Dr. Presley, what in God's name do to you think you're doing!?"

Bridget was standing in the doorway of the tavern, her skirts billowing in the wind, hand raised to protect her eyes. He didn't know what to say, so he just turned to face her, awkwardly holding his arms up for her to see. Surely she'd see it too?

She charged out of the door, bellowing curses of all manner at him. "Bloody fool," she grumbled, grabbing hold of his arm when she reached him. "Pick up your damned clothes!"

The fierceness in her voice was enough to frighten him and he didn't hesitate to obey, using his free arm to snatch up the coat and shirts he'd discarded. He didn't resist or try to free his arm while she dragged him back to the tavern and he didn't speak a word while she ranted at him. She made more than enough noise to catch people's attention, and all of Bridget's customers were watching with great interest as they came through the door. He looked up to see Harry peering out from the door to their room, frowning and looking concerned.

Bridget was gripping his arm tightly enough and pulling him roughly enough as she dragged him to the fire that it was beginning to hurt. "Sit there!" she commanded, only releasing his arm once she'd positioned him in front of a chair.

"But I'm not—"

"Did that sound like a request?" she interrupted loudly.

Kel sat down immediately. "No, ma'am."

Bridget turned her eyes to the room next, looking directly at each of the handful of customers she had with the same ferocity. "You've all finished eating?"

Kel didn't turn in his seat to look, but the quiet din of plates being scraped told him that Bridget's patrons had wisely turned their attention back to their food. Bridget stood over him for a moment, hands on her hips, glaring. He tried to look sheepish but he wasn't sure how, especially because he was so distracted with the fact that he couldn't feel the heat of the fire.

"What the devil were you thinking?" Bridget scolded him, her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You'll catch your death out there."

"I was performing a test," Kel answered quickly. "I was almost finished. I was about to come back inside."

"You best not be lying to me now."

"No, ma'am."

She looked completely unconvinced but she left his side anyway, adding an extra huff as she left. Kel decided it was best to stay by the fire for now, lest he anger her again. He turned over the events in his mind, trying to make sense of them. He stared into the fire before him, baffled by the lack of heat he felt, and thought about putting his hand inside the flame. Would he feel it then?

A man sat down in the chair next to him and cleared his throat. "What was that?" he asked quietly. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything is fine," Kel answered, smiling. "What can I help you with?"

The man looked at him curiously. "What are you talking about?"

Kel blinked. "Apologies," he said quickly. "I assumed you had approached me for medical services. Most people only speak to me when they need help."

The man quickly turned his attention to the fire, stared at it for a long moment, and then sighed. "Kel, do you remember me?"

Kel tried to hold his smile, tried to make it look convincing. He dug through his memories of the faces he'd seen here and couldn't seem to place the one before him. He suddenly remembered the feel of a fist connecting with his mouth and his shirt pulling tight against his neck but couldn't remember the face of the man who'd done it. Without meaning to, he brought his hand up to his lip, covering up the wound instinctively.

" _No_ ," the man's eyes widened, suddenly looking startled. "No, no. That wasn't me, Kel. I didn't do that."

Kel lowered his hand, summoned that convincing smile as best he could. "Of course not," he said. "I know that."

The man didn't smile back. His eyes looked heavy and tired.

"I'm Harry."

Kel nodded, smiling. "Yes. Yes, of course. Apologies. I've met so many people here that sometimes it takes a moment to recall names."

"Yeah," Harry answered, the burdened look not leaving his eyes. "Okay."

They sat together in silence for a while. Harry didn't speak and Kel wasn't sure why was lingering. He tried to focus on his senses again but it was hard to focus now that there was an odd man sitting with him for no particular reason. He called him Kel too. That was odd, wasn't it? Everyone here called some variation of Doctor Presley, even Bridget. She had called him Kelevra once or twice, but never just _Kel_. The only person in Salem who called him Kel was. . .

Oh.

"Hi, Harry."

Harry nodded, eyes still on the fire. "Hi, Kel."

He felt like he should apologize but he wasn't sure how. Should he apologize for forgetting him or for lying about it? Should he apologize at all if it wasn't really his fault? Perhaps it was best not to say anything, especially with so many people around.

He thought about how much easier these things would be to handle if he'd had a Time Lord for a host, or some other sort of telepath. He could sense that something was wrong with Harry—feeling the countless electrical impulses his brain was sending through his system, emitting wave after wave of distress—but he had no way of telling what he was actually thinking.

"Can you smell blueberries?"

"What?" Harry moved his eyes from the fire to look at him. Kel immediately wished he hadn't.

"I can smell blueberries cooking," Kel said quietly. "Pie, I think. Could be jam."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "There are no blueberries. It's the middle of winter."

"I know." Kel felt his host's heart speeding up and willed it to slow down. Harry had made his wishes clear—he wanted to know about these sorts of things. Every instinct inside him told him to shut up and shrug, make some stupid comment about how he must have been mistaken because humans have such a poor sense of smell.

But Harry had told him he wanted to know these things.

"It was warm outside," he admitted quietly. "I took off my coat because I could feel the sun. I couldn't feel the wind. I could see the plants beneath the snow."

Harry's face didn't move but Kel could sense the distress growing stronger. "You got hit pretty hard yesterday. Maybe you got a concussion."

Kel shook his head. "No."

Harry considered that for a long moment, chewing on his thumb nail as he thought. "Can I see?"

Kel shook his head again. "You'll hurt yourself."

"I think it's important that I look," Harry answered quickly. "Please."

His voice was somber and, when Kel turned to look at him, his eyes were strangely dim. Kel thought it must be what he looked like when he began to disconnect from his host. No wonder Harry found it so unsettling.

Kel sighed and began to lower his mental defenses. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Kel nodded and shifted in his chair, waiting. Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket in preparation, holding it at the ready near his lips. Kel wasn't sure exactly what it would feel like letting someone else into his mind, but he didn't expect it to feel so subtle. If he hadn't been paying such close attention, he doubted he would have even felt it, but it was there if he looked for it.

Harry glanced around the room, breathing in slow and deep. He got up from his chair, dabbing at his nose with the handkerchief to catch the first drops of blood as they appeared, and casually wandered towards the door. Kel stayed in his seat, watching Harry carefully and waiting for his reaction.

Harry spent a few minutes hanging around the door and glancing around the room. He spent several minutes staring out the window, clutching his handkerchief to his nose with less subtlety than before. Kel could see the blood now, coming strongly enough to seep through the cloth. Finally, Harry turned to look at him and nodded towards their room before walking off towards it.

Kel cast a nervous glance at the kitchen door. He had hoped that Bridget would come back before he left his chair, worried that she might find him gone and scold him again. But Harry said he thought it was important and apparently didn't feel that they could discuss it freely. Bridget would just have to understand.

When Kel entered their room, Harry was washing his face in the basin, the water already tainted red. Kel could feel his mind sending out signals of pain—he'd hurt himself again.

"Harold—"

"Shut the door."

Kel obeyed and then crossed the room to find Harry's salve. He could feel that the container was almost empty and pondered again if there was any possible way to make more while they were in Salem.

"I know that you're used to using your telepathy for most things," Kel said gently, bringing the container to Harry's side. "But your injury will never heal if you don't allow it to. That was unnecessary."

"It was important," Harry answered without hesitation, taking a few deep breaths as he stood over the water. "Our current situation aside, I spent most of my life with a terrible sound in my head, driving me mad. No one believed it was there or tried to understand it. They were all telepaths. They could have looked at any time." He pinched the skin between his eyebrows, eyes clamped shut hard. "I needed to look."

Kel wasn't sure what to say to that. He put the container of salve down beside the basin and stepped back.

"Has anything like this happened before?"

"I don't think so."

Harry took a moment to consider that, taking his time to think over the information as he dried his face. He didn't speak again until he as opening his container of salve and applying it to the area around his collar bone.

"Time is always changing," he began slowly. "Every universe has a basic timestream mapped out, like the path carved out for a river. People disrupt it all the time, but it's just like throwing in big stones or logs—the river just finds a way to move around it and carry on—but _sometimes_ someone manages to do something or something happens and the river has to take a detour. A new path is carved out and time gets rewritten. Time Lords can sense those changes." Harry turned to face him then, looking him in the eye. "When you killed Giles Corey, I didn't feel anything. He was going to die anyway, so dying early did almost nothing to the timestream. Yesterday, when you were out with Hathorne, I felt something. Something happened that was big enough to make the timestream change. I think this experience you're having is happening because of that."

Kel tried to take that information in, to process it logically. For some reason, he couldn't. His mind went back to the woods, to the cold bite of the snow and the taste of blood in his mouth. He could feel the crushing force of his teeth against his lip and the stinging of the tree bark biting into his shoulder.

"No," he found himself saying, not even sure why. "No, it's just my host. It must have something wrong with its brain—Alzheimer's or maybe an injury. It's only affecting me because I'm connected to it. It's my host."

"It's not your host. I think your memory's been getting worse since we got here because time is changing, and part of that change is doing something to you."

His throat felt like it was burning. He remembered the pull of his shirt against his larynx, cutting off his air and yanking him to the ground. His hip hit a rock when he fell back. He could feel the bruise coming up even now.

"I assure you, it's my host. This one is defective. I just need a new one."

"I saw into your head, Kel," Harry answered, using a voice that suddenly seemed condescending more than anything. Kel felt himself bristling at the sound of it. "What you were seeing was real—I saw it too—but it was coming from _you_."

He remembered a splatter of blood in the snow.

"It's _not_ me!"

Harry's eyes had that look in them again. He hated it. Harry reached out like he was going to touch his arm and Kel quickly pulled it away.

"Kelevra—"

"Oh, fuck off," he spat. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"It's not a hallucination," Harry explained with a sigh. "I compared it with the memories of the people in the tavern. Everything was completely accurate for what the land looks like in the summer, right down to what flowers are growing where."

"I've seen it before," Kel answered irritably.

"No, you haven't!" Harry almost shouted back. "There's been snow the whole time we've been here. You shouldn't know what it looks like in the summer here. You shouldn't even _think_ you should know." He paused, took a breath, and continue in a more quiet, calm voice. "But the image _is_ accurate. It's _real_. I just don't know how you're getting it."

Kel took a long moment to consider Harry's words. He found himself looking for a trick, trying to find out what advantage this situation could give Harry. Then he thought back to the moment when Harry explained why checking for himself was important and it hadn't been a lie. None of what he'd said had been a lie.

"I'm . . . I'm not sick?"

"You're not sick," Harry confirmed. "And it's not your host. Something is doing this to you."

Kel tried to find solutions but he didn't know where to begin if the problem wasn't medical. If he wasn't sick, how was it possible?

"Edmund?" he suggested quietly.

"Your body is so different from the rest of us in every way. Maybe Edmund's infection affects you differently," Harry shrugged. "Your mind seems to be in a state of temporal flux. It's like it's traveling through time, forgetting things that it doesn't think have happened yet or remembering things that it thinks have already happened. I think that's why the memory loss has never been permanent. You always come back."

Suddenly, more than ever, Kel wished he didn't have a host. Being on his own was almost like being in another world all together—blind and deaf and without a body that gave away his thoughts. Harry's nose was still bleeding, his handkerchief slowly soaking through as he held it, and Kel found himself feeling panicked at the thought that Harry might still be in his head. How could he tell? Could he push him out?

"You need to rest, Harry," he said quietly.

Harry stepped towards him, suddenly seeming eager. "Listen, I might be able to fix it," he said quickly. "When we get home, if I can find what's causing it, I think I can do it. This is a good thing." Harry's face seemed to fall a little then, the enthusiasm in his eyes vanishing quickly. "What's wrong?"

He came up with several answers at once, anything and everything he thought would satisfy Harry and get him the result he wanted. Smiling and responding that he was glad for good news seemed like the best idea. But Harry didn't want that.

Harry said he didn't want him to hide.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice coming out weak and sounding strange. Once he started speaking, the words just stumbled out of his mouth quickly, clumsily, and without any forethought. "I seem to be experiencing some kind of anxiety and I don't know why. I hear what you're saying but my throat hurts and you're bleeding and I can't seem to focus on anything but that. I think I'm overwhelmed and I wish you'd step back."

The second the words came out, Harry took three quick steps back, well out of arm's reach. Kel felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen and it seemed a little easier to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. He watched Kel in silence for a moment before smiling a little. "That's really hard for you, isn't it? Being honest."

"It's never been my strong suit," Kel answered with a nod. "I'm trying."

"I know." Harry smiled a little wider. "Thank you."

Kel hadn't expected to be thanked and he wasn't sure what to do in response. Doug always managed to take the awkwardness away from a situation by making a joke or doing something physical like clapping him on the back or hugging him. Harry didn't do those things. Harry just stayed quiet and waited to see what happened next. Kel didn't know what was supposed to happen next.

"Excuse me."

Harry let him go without a word. He didn't really have a plan on any kind, just knowing that he wanted to be alone. There were customers in the tavern, but it was large enough that he could find himself some space in the corner where he might go unnoticed.

He stopped in the kitchen first to fetch a pot full of potatoes and a knife that Bridget would want peeled for later. He wasn't very skilled with knives and peeling took him a long time, so it seemed like the perfect chore to excuse him from company for a while. Bridget saw him take the pot and didn't react aside from a quick nod.

He knew she didn't believe him any more than Harry had when he told her that he's simply fallen in the woods. He didn't know if Harry had told her anything or if she had simply guessed but, every time she eyed his split lip or saw the limp in his step, her face would tense up. As he left the kitchen, he could feel her body pulsing with anger, rage even.

He settled himself into the corner that was furthest from the door. It was cold there but at least it was quiet. He let the sound and movement around him slip out of focus and blur together, turning into something he could ignore, and focused everything instead on the task before him.

It worked for a while.

He had a significant pile of potato skins on the table in front of him when a rush of cold wind raced through the tavern. It happened every time someone opened the door and Kel paid it no mind at first. He didn't even bother to look up until he heard Bridget's voice crack through the room like a whip.

"What are you doing here?"

There were two men at the door that Kel didn't recognize, both looking surprised and a little frightened as Bridget stormed towards them.

"We heard there was a doctor staying here," one of them answered quickly.

"Is that so? What's wrong with you?" Bridget grabbed one of them by his sleeve and pulled him about as though she were inspecting him. "I don't see any injury. You don't look ill."

The men looked somewhat panicked. Clearly, they hadn't expected this reception and Kel couldn't understand why they were getting it. Bridget was never afraid to get a little rough and rowdy with those that needed it, but all these men had done was walk in the door.

"I've-I've got this terrible pain in my head," the man stammered out. Kel noted that the other one was looking around the room, inspecting faces.

"Chew some willow bark then. Don't you know anything?" Bridget barked back at him. "You don't need a doctor for such trifles; you need some sense. Run home to your mothers if you need to be nursed like children."

She was already pushing them both towards the door and they were beginning to protest. The first was explaining that he felt he really _must_ see a doctor and the second was beginning to explain that he had a wound on his leg that he was sure was beginning to fester. Bridget was having none of it and she hollered a variety of curses at them as she shoved them both. A few of her customers stood up, looking like they might step in, but no one did.

"I see any of you sneaking around my place again and I'll be sure you leave a piece of yourself behind," Bridget snarled as she pushed them back into the winter air. One of the men made eye contact with Kel just before the door closed.

Bridget took a quick moment to compose herself, huffing away her anger and smoothing out her skirts, before heading back towards her kitchen. She came back out a moment later with a pot full of carrots and onions, came straight towards Kel's table, and set it down with a thud.

"Some of Judge Hathorne's goons," Bridget muttered under her breath, holding the fold of her apron out to sweep potato skins into. "Of course, he'd never dare to show up himself. They've never set foot in here before and they aren't about to start now." She paused to kiss him on his head before tucking the pot of potatoes against her hip and heading off.

Kel tipped out the pot and set to work on chopping vegetables instead, keeping one eye on the door. Neither of the men returned during the time it took him to finish his work, nor any other strangers.

When he finally finished with his work, he went to his room to retrieve a bottle of whiskey one of his patients had given him. Harry was asleep—his aching head no doubt exhausting him. He'd expressed an interest in learning how to manipulate mnemist stones that morning, so Kel had given him a brief explanation and left a purified one for him to practice with, with the promise that he would review his work later. He used a handkerchief to put the stone in his pocket and took his whiskey back to his cold corner in the tavern.

He had two drinks down before he brought the stone back out of his pocket, maybe three—he supposed he couldn't know for sure these days, but there wasn't much missing from the bottle. He tried his best to clear his thoughts, hoping the whiskey might help a little with that, before allowing the stone to touch his bare skin.

Harry had clearly put a lot of effort into the stone, but it was what Kel had expected it to be for someone's first piece. The strain of effort was present throughout the experience, like someone had forgotten to clean a paintbrush between colours and contaminated the work with unplanned colours. The concept was too clumsy, with different processes bumping into each other instead of flowing together smoothly. It was like experiencing a collection of memories in quick flashes rather than with any meaningful start or finish, and all of it had an undertone of sexuality that Kel was unaccustomed to. Still, it wasn't bad for a first try. There was a strong sense of longing and affection, combined with fear and a dull, quiet sort of shame. Kel imagined Harry must be missing his husband and son when he sat down with the stone. He must have been thinking of home.

His whiskey bottle was nearing half empty when Bridget brought him his dinner—a healthy portion of stew with bread and rosemary mashed potatoes. He loved rosemary. When he looked up and smiled to thank her, she kissed him on the head again, touching a hand to his cheek.

"Your lip will be sensitive to the heat," she warned him quietly. "Make sure it's cooled first."

He nodded and gave a word of thanks. He didn't think it important to mention that his lip was also sensitive to the sting of alcohol and that he had disconnected from the sense some time ago. He didn't notice until after she walked away that there were two servings and an extra cup on the table, and he looked up to see Bridget knocking on the door to his and Harry's room.

He poured out two more cups of whiskey and picked up his own, cradling it in his hands as he waited. Harry came out a moment later and sat down. He looked at the bottle on the table, looked at his own cup, then at Kel. Kel simply raised his cup and held it out without a word. Harry lifted his own cup and knocked them together before taking a sip.

"You know this doesn't affect me the same way it affects you, right?"

"I know."

Harry nodded and turned his attention to his dinner, ripping off a piece of bread to dip in the stew. "How drunk are you?"

" _Technically_ —"

"How drunk is your host?" Harry rephrased the question with a roll of his eyes.

Kel squinted his eyes, trying to make out the faces of some men sitting across the room. Their faces were blurred and seemed to be moving about, so he couldn't tell if he even knew them or not.

"I'm not about to stand up and find out."

Harry nodded, glancing at the bottle again, no doubt taking note of how empty it was. "You should eat."

Kel obeyed. A hangover wasn't the worst thing in the world, especially because he could simply disconnect from the pain receptors of his host, but he couldn't really push through one if he made himself ill. He followed Harry's example by starting with the bread, dipping it in the stew first and then pausing to scoop up a little mashed potato on it as well. That seemed to amuse Harry because he started grinning.

"You know they make rosemary bread too."

"They do?"

"Most Italian places have it. Or you can make it yourself."

Kel shook his head. "I've never made bread before."

Harry was still grinning. "It's not hard. You can even get a bread maker that you just dump the ingredients into and it does the rest."

Kel tried to tsk but the sound that came out was louder and more obnoxious sounding than he had intended it to be. "Listen, pet. I can perform surgeries so complicated I don't even know how to explain them to you, have a well-established name as a mnemist, have found cures for supposedly unstoppable diseases, and dabble in genetically splicing plants for the hell of it and _you don't think I can cook_?"

" _Bake_ ," Harry corrected, grin growing wider by the second. "And no."

Kel looked him in the eye, frowning slightly, and tried to think of something clever to say. "Fuck it," he sighed, reaching for his cup of whiskey again. "I get takeaways from the restaurant 'round the corner of my place so often that I don't even have to order anymore. I show up and they just make it for me."

"That's pretty bad," Harry chuckled.

"It's a good system!" Kel answered defensively. "I'm a busy man. I don't have time to cook."

"I cook."

Kel shrugged dismissively. "Yeah, but you're just a teacher."

The look Harry shot him then was pure gold. Kel tried to keep a straight face but the alcohol made it too difficult to hold back how pleased he was with the reaction and he cracked a smile. Harry shook his head, chuckling, and called him a bastard. They both drank, and the alcohol burned his lip fiercely but he couldn't remember why.

Bridget came by halfway through their meal to check up on them. She smiled a little more than usual and touched him more than she used to, letting her hand rest gently on the back of his neck like she was trying to reach the 'real' him. It was nice that she thought of it and, truth be told, he could feel the warmth of her hand through his host's skin. It was easier to feel her with his hair cut short again.

Bridget left them with a pitcher of water and Harry refused to let Kel pour more whiskey until he'd had some water first. He didn't really care, but he pretended that it annoyed him anyway and downed the cup quickly. Harry filled it again with more water and instructed him to finish his dinner.

"I examined your work," Kel told him, pulling the small stone from his pocket and placing it on the table.

Harry smiled somewhat awkwardly. "Before or after you started drinking?"

"Before." In truth, he couldn't remember. Knowing himself, it seemed likely that it was after, but it didn't count as a lie if he didn't know, did it?

"What did you think?"

Harry was nervous. His body language displayed that he was calm and only mildly interested, but Kel could sense his hearts beating a little faster, a small variety of signals in his brain firing off that had been silent before. Best not tease him then.

"It was a good first try," Kel began slowly. "Though perhaps a little ambitious for a beginner."

"Okay." Harry paused to take a quick sip of his whiskey. "Go on."

"While you're still learning how to portray what you want effectively, it's best to stick to simpler things that you don't have to think too hard about, because thinking too hard shows up in your work. Love is complicated. Missing someone is a remarkably complex mix of thoughts and feelings. Even happiness can be difficult. There's a mix of chemicals in your brain that you're trying to recreate and, the more complicated the mix, the harder it is to replicate."

Harry chewed a mouthful of stew slowly and purposefully, his eyes looking somewhat far away as he considered the words. "What would you suggest?"

"Something instinctual and pure," Kel answered with a shrug. "Focusing on adrenaline would probably be easiest. You could try thinking of being in a fight or sex. _Just_ the adrenaline, mind you, or it's complicated again. No build up, no thinking of the other person involved, just the moment and the act itself."

Harry cleared his throat, looking amused again. "Is that how you started out?"

Kel shook his head. "I started with purifying them. My job was to think of nothing and feel nothing. Learning to add things in was something I learned later."

"And being a mnemist is quite prestigious where you're from?"

"Oh, yes. I was being sold as a trophy husband, didn't I tell you? My would-be in-laws were filthy rich and big fans of mine." He paused to take a sip of whiskey, forgetting that Harry had given him water instead. When he tasted the water, he decided to get rid of it and drank it all at once, putting his cup back down on the table out of Harry's reach. "But you were—you weren't a professor on your homeworld, were you?"

Harry shook his head. "Terraforming Master. It's like an engineer for planets."

Kel grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink. "Is that prestigious?"

Harry nodded slowly, focusing on his dinner for the moment. "It's a notoriously difficult field—comes with a lot of bragging points. I'd made a name for myself before I left home."

 _Home._

Kel wished he hadn't used that word. Harry was still talking but he wasn't hearing much of it. His mind had moved to the little stone on the table, full of longing. What a terrible thing. He quickly put the stone back in his pocket, forgetting to use a cloth and momentarily feeling the remnants of Harry's work. It was less pleasant this time.

Kel returned his attention to his whiskey, letting it burn his lip and his throat and add to the growing dullness that was slowly taking him over. Harry was talking about some of the projects he had worked on when he was young, describing some of the unexpected results he'd gotten, and Kel finished his dinner.

At some point, Kel must have fallen asleep in his seat. He didn't remember closing his eyes but, somehow, he went from listening to Harry to being woken up by him, instructing him to stand. He got to his feet and the world swam before him, his legs swaying in strange ways. He reached out for Harry's arm to steady himself, standing there for a moment as he tried to get his bearings.

"Are you gonna be sick?" Harry asked.

"I'm focusing."

"Okay."

He was having more difficulty than he would have thought. He took a step, and the whole tavern seemed to take a step with him. He'd forgotten about his damaged ankle and it gave out the moment he put weight on it. Harry was there, so he didn't fall. He could feel Harry's hearts speeding up again, maybe from the exertion of holding him up or maybe because he was worried Kel would get sick on him. It made him feel guilty for drinking so much.

"You know," Kel began slowly, allowing Harry to manipulate his arm around his shoulders. "If I disconnected from my host, I'd be sober as a stone."

"Kel, if you drop a dead body on me, I will pull you out of your host and kick your ass."

The words were all bark and no bite, lacking any real strength or truth behind them. Kel decided it was probably best to not disconnect from his host anyway. If Bridget saw, it would terrify her.

Harry had to keep reminding him to keep his weight off his injured foot and to lean into him instead. Kel found himself chuckling quietly, remembering a time he'd had too much to drink at the pub and Doug had tried to help him walk home. Eventually, he gave up and just hoisted him in the air instead and carried him. With Doug carrying him, it only took a few minutes to get home and Kel had laughed the whole way. Harry was a bit too small for that though.

Kel's bed sat at the far side of their room and Harry didn't even attempt to get there. He helped Kel sit down on his own bed and knelt down to help him pull his boots off.

"I'm making a habit of this, aren't I?" Kel muttered as Harry carefully removed the boot from his injured foot. "I don't know why. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Harry answered immediately. "Just lie down, okay?"

Kel obeyed. Harry grabbed an extra pillow to place under his injured ankle to elevate it and placed an empty pot at the bedside in case he got ill. Kel could have at least pulled the blankets over himself but he was enjoying having someone fuss over him, so he simply didn't move until Harry did it for him.

He laid in silence for a few minutes, expecting sleep to overtake him quickly. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the rustling of clothes and soft foot steps as Harry undressed and prepared himself for bed. He found his mind drifting back to the stone in his pocket and to what Harry had said at dinner.

"Harold?"

"Yeah?"

He shouldn't say anything. It was stupid. It didn't matter anyway.

"You don't think of Gallifrey as your home, do you?"

Harry chuckled. "Of course I do. It's where I was born."

"Yes, but . . . if you had to pick one? When you think of the word 'home', do you think of Gallifrey or Earth?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Earth, I suppose. That's where my life is now—everything that matters to me. Why?"

"Just curious," he lied. "Earth is my home too."

"Well, don't worry. We're going back," Harry said with confidence in his voice. "I'm going after that angel tomorrow. I'm going to make sure we aren't here for the summer."

Kel muttered something in acknowledgement. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to feel as confident as Harry sounded, but he brought his hand up to rub the sore, red line that ran across his throat and remembered the flowers and the green grass. He remembered the smell of pollen and the sound of crickets in the night. And, more than his lip or his ankle or the various scrapes on his body, he remembered how his throat ached.


	44. Chapter 44: Celeste

For one horrible moment, Celeste couldn't see a way out. There were no maintenance hatches or exit doors within sight. The King was in front of them, Doug was behind them, holding back an army of Neverweres, and there was no up, down, left, or right to go. The thought of just standing there and _letting_ him kill her somehow seemed worse than the thought of dying, but there was simply nothing she could do about the walls that trapped them.

 _The walls_.

Her mind raced back to the moment that Rose had said she wanted to trap Doug in the storage closet. She wanted to lock him in there because walls were the only thing they knew of that stopped them.

The King was advancing on them now, creeping forward slowly, toying with them. The group scrambled backwards, reaching out and grabbing for each other, comforting themselves by each other's presence. But Celeste wasn't reaching out for comfort—she was searching for answers.

The tunnel was dark but her eyes were adjusting. There was rubble all over the tracks and she tried to think of any time she'd walked along them before, trying to remember what she had seen. There were small items like papers and purses, and some pieces of salvage they had dragged down there and never found a use for. She remembered seeing a few tires, a shopping cart, a variety of tools—none of it would work. She needed something big and solid that wouldn't be too heavy for her to lift.

Celeste turned and ran, back towards Doug and the Neverweres, hoping that they hadn't moved too far forward yet. They were still screaming so loudly that, while she knew she heard Shaun's voice call out, she had no idea what he said. She couldn't even tell which part of the writhing black mass ahead of her was what was left of her brother but she saw a Neverwere attempt to break free, heading straight for her, only to be violently pulled back into the fray.

Finally, she spotted her target. Lying against the tunnel wall, dangerously close to the raging battle of shadows, was an old transit evacuation window. She wasn't sure if it had come from a train or a bus or even who had brought it down there, but it was a solid sheet of thick window that was almost big enough to shield her entire body. The red handles on the frame were positioned somewhat awkwardly but she just needed to have a good enough grip to hold it up.

Celeste positioned the window in front of her body like a riot shield, gripping the handles as tight as she could, and started running again. She had to be fast—surprise was going to be a more effective weapon than the window was going to be anyway.

"Move!" she shouted as she neared the group. She saw their faces turn towards her in the darkness but didn't see them scrambling out of her way. "Fucking _move_!"

That time they heard her. The path before her cleared and the King loomed ahead. Celeste braced herself behind the window, tightening her grip to prepare for the impact. All she could do now was hope that the shock of being attacked might be enough to prevent the King from simply reaching around the window. If he thought to grab at her feet, she would die.

The impact was much harder than she thought it would be. For a creature that looked like it was made of ash and smoke, the King felt just as solid as a real person when she ran into him. Luckily, just like a real person, it also sent him sprawling.

The King shrieked and his form momentarily faltered, stretching and flailing as if it had forgotten how to mimic a man anymore. Celeste slammed into him again, curving her strike to push him towards the wall, a smug sense of satisfaction overcoming her when she heard footsteps rush behind her. She slammed the window a couple more times, earning as much time for the others to gain distance as she dared, but she saw the King was starting to pull his form back together. Fingers of darkness were starting to creep towards the edge of her shield, inching on the floor towards her feet. One more push and she ran.

With every step, she was certain that she could feel the King's presence at her back. It was almost impossible to stop herself from looking back. The King's fingers were reaching for her, barely brushing the ends of her hair, she was sure of it. She kept telling herself not to look back. She couldn't look back. If she looked back, if she stumbled, if she fell, she would die.

There was shrieking behind her coming closer. Was it Doug? Had he been overrun by the Neverweres? What if they'd devoured him and now they were coming for her too? What if her brother was truly gone this time? She could feel something inside her, pulling at her chest, begging her to turn back. She couldn't stand the thought of leaving him down there and it hurt to not turn back, but she had to be stronger than that now.

Up ahead, she saw the others veer off to the left. It was hard to make out in the dark, but there was a door in the tunnel wall and Celeste thanked God it wasn't locked.

Shaun called to her, holding the door open as the other two went through and there was urgency in his voice. She realized as she ran that he could see what was behind her. He could see what was coming and how close it was. She must not look, she told herself. She _must not_ look.

She burst through the doorway like she was breaking through the surface of the sea, gasping as though she had been drowning. Shaun slammed the door shut behind her and something solid thumped loudly against it immediately afterwards. Celeste had barely even gulped down a lungful of air before Shaun grabbed hold of her and hugged her tight. She hugged him back, clinging to him as she stared at the door and tried to not hear the banging coming from the other side.

"We have to keep moving," Rose said quietly. "We don't know if the door will keep us safe anymore."

She was right. Doug had somehow learned how to open doors, so they had no reason to think that the King couldn't either. Celeste nodded, taking one last glance at the shaking door before releasing her grip on Shaun.

"We need to get to the street," Shaun began explaining to the others as the group began to move. "The rift is still active, which means that we can use one of the Doctor's portals to get you home."

Annie shot him a look. "I told you I wasn't leaving until we stopped him."

"You fixed the crown, right?" Shaun answered gently. "That's all we needed. You don't need to stay here for the rest."

"Like hell I don't!"

Celeste shook her head. "The Doctor has never attacked us like that before," she cut in. "We've never been more than a minor nuisance to him and he left us alone as long as we didn't cause too much trouble, but he _wants_ to kill you. You stay here, and we're all fucking dead."

Annie's eyes lit up with fire and the tone of her voice said she was ready to argue this forever. From everything Shaun had ever said about his wife, Celeste imagined that she must be seeing a part of her now, living on through her daughter.

" _I_ fixed the crown," Annie insisted. "You didn't know how to do that. _I_ did. I can help. I want to fix this."

"Annie," Shaun shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know how many people have died trying to stop him? Do you know how many geniuses and experts have fought and lost?"

Annie's face grew harder. "You didn't have _me_."

This had gotten her killed before. Celeste knew it and Shaun knew it, but there was no way to convince Annie of that. She wouldn't give up and they would have to shove her through that portal kicking and screaming if they wanted her to live.

"He'll follow you," Celeste offered. "Act like you're trying to escape and go for the portal. The Doctor will follow you. The three of you go through, I'll wait for the Doctor and the King, and then I'll close it. It'll cut him off from his army and you can use the crown to take control of the King and take him out."

Shaun gave her a sideways glance, eyes heavy and riddled with worry. She knew he'd have a problem with almost every part of that plan. They could unleash the Doctor on a new world. It was likely that, without the King to control them, the Neverwere army would become completely wild and unpredictable. Celeste probably wouldn't survive more than an hour or two and, if she didn't, there would be no one to reopen the portal to let Shaun come back. She would die alone. But it was the best chance they had of finally defeating the Doctor.

It was the best chance Shaun had to save his daughter.

Celeste looked back at her friend with a steady eye, making sure not let even the tiniest hint of fear or hesitation cross her face. His eyes turned to the floor, resigned.

"Would that work?" Rose asked eagerly.

Shaun nodded slowly. "It would put your world at some risk but, yeah, it could work."

"Okay," Annie was nodding enthusiastically. "Okay, then we have a plan."

"I would really rather you just went home and let us handle this."

It was pointless for Shaun to say that, and Annie let him know as much, but Celeste appreciated the attempt. Everybody else had died so she counted herself lucky to have come as far as she did. Besides, however small it was, there was a chance that she'd survive yet.

The tube maintenance halls were a bit of a maze by themselves, but they managed to find a door that was marked with the name of platform. Celeste half expected to be met with writhing, screaming shadows when they opened it, but there were none to be found—only silence and stillness. They stepped over shoes and bags and jackets, making their way to the stairs that no one had climbed in years now. She found herself smirking at old memories as they hopped over the turnstiles and she closed her eye when the first hints of sunlight landed upon her face.

She'd seen the streets empty and soundless countless times before but it somehow felt different this time. Her mind was still down in the tunnel, in the blackness. She kept thinking about Sandra's earrings laying on the tracks and of the photograph that Doug had been holding in his smoky fingers. If she went back down there, would she ever be able to find them?

That shrieking sound rose in the distance again, as familiar to her now as the sounds of traffic used to be.

"Are we going to make it?" Rose asked nervously.

"One way to find out," Celeste answered.

And they ran.

The shrieking steadily grew louder and the group slowly burned the last of their energy. The fatigue was starting to show on Shaun's face. Even if he didn't complain, he wasn't as young as he once was and Celeste could see his steps slowing. They just needed to make it a little further, to last a little longer and then they all could rest.

The portals loomed ahead and the sight of them seemed to give more energy to the others than the sound at their backs. Celeste's eye began to scan the nearest buildings and vantage points, knowing that the Doctor would be near. He wouldn't make a move until his weapons were poised and ready, but he would be watching.

Beside the portal gate sat a rickety old table with a crude shelter built of plastic on top of it. Celeste pulled it apart the moment she got to it, finding the manual controls to the portal inside. She'd overridden the portals a hundred times before, smuggling out the survivors who fell through the Rift. She'd always thought that the Doctor had allowed it to happen because he simply didn't care, but she realized now that he had allowed it for a moment like this.

By opening this portal, she was saving the Doctor a hunt. He wouldn't have to go in search of Annie and her world, or the Harry that lived in it. All he had to do was stand back, let her open the portal like she had so many times before, and then follow them. Celeste tried to take some solace in the fact that he wasn't fooling her, but it didn't help—they were doing exactly what he wanted and calling it their plan.

She grabbed Annie's hand and pressed it against the machine's scanner.

"I'm gonna try to buy you some time," Celeste explained quickly as she worked. "The portal is going to stick to you and pull you back through it once you've crossed. You'll bounce around a couple of times before it takes you home, which will slow the Doctor down a little bit when he follows you. Use that time to arm yourselves and prepare in any way you can."

"Wait, what do you mean 'bounce us around'?" Rose asked. "What if it drops us in a volcano or something?"

Celeste shook her head. "It won't do that. It'll only take you places you've been before."

"Okay, so what if it drops us on a London crosswalk in front of a bus?"

Celeste blinked, taking a second to think. "Just . . . be ready to jump out of the way."

"Okay." Rose nodded slowly. "Jumping it is then. Brilliant."

Celeste paused to look around her one more time. She could still hear the screaming Neverweres as they grew nearer, but none had yet appeared. It seemed strange that the Doctor wouldn't have tried to slow her down at all while he waited for reinforcements. It made her think that the King might already be there, hiding somewhere. Perhaps the screams of the Neverweres had stayed so far behind to lure them into a false sense of security.

Whether they worked it out on their or whether they had picked up on her caution, the others had started looking around too. Rose picked up an old shop sign from the ground, holding it awkwardly in front of her as though to imitate Celeste's use of the window in the tunnel.

"It's gonna need to power up," Celeste warned. "Be ready."

She gave them a few more seconds to prepare themselves and then she activated the machine.

The moment the portal hummed to life, Celeste saw movement out of the corner of her eye. There was a small shop just across the street that the King rushed out of, focused on Annie like a bird of prey. The portal was activating quickly, flickering to life, making it hard to decide if it was best to run or stand their ground.

And there he was—the Doctor. His jacket sleeve was stained with blood, splattered on his shirt and even his face. He didn't cradle his wounded hand and his body language revealed no hints of fear. He was so confident and sure of his control. As far as he was concerned, he'd already won, and every drop of blood in her veins hated that smug look on his face.

"Rose," Celeste said, reaching towards her. "Give me that."

Rose handed her the sign she'd armed herself with, and Celeste charged.

The King did as she expected, rearing up, letting his form spread a little. He was preparing for her to ram him like she had before, preparing to reach around the sign with wispy limbs and grab her. He was planning to kill her as quickly as possible and carry on to the others like she had never even been there.

Instead of ramming the King, Celeste gave herself enough space to run past him. Long fingers of smoke lashed out at her like whips and she used the sign in her hands to bat them away. The impacts hurt her wrists and her elbows, but every tiny jolt of pain brought a little bit more of a smile to her face. It was almost as good as when she reached the Doctor and swung the sign right at his arrogant face.

The King did just as she hoped, pausing his attack to turn back. Above all else, he was meant to protect the Doctor, and she saw him coming over her shoulder when she swung the sign again. The Doctor tried to fight her off, yelling in pain as he caught the edges of the sign and ripped it free from her grasp. A fresh splatter of blood followed it to the ground as the stump from his amputated finger tore open anew.

Celeste pushed forward, grabbing onto his sleeves and trying to hit him, kick him, anything. She even headbutted his chin, though it seemed to hurt her more than him. She supposed it didn't even really matter if she actually hurt him, she just had to keep him close enough to her body to stop the King from attacking her and to stall them for as long as possible.

It wouldn't be long, she knew. The Doctor may have been injured, but he was stronger then her and had formal training. She slammed a fist into the shoulder Annie had dislocated and it didn't even slow him down. He caught her by the wrist before she had a chance to pull back and began to twist, her bones creaking and crying out in agony, threatening to break if she didn't follow. She twisted her body to spare her wrist and the Doctor guided her like a puppet, his other hand striking a fast blow to her neck to weaken her, and his leg sweeping against the back of her knees with such force that it cut her legs right out from under her. For just a second, she felt like she was hovering in the air, waiting to fall, when her peripheral vision lit up with purple light. She had just a split-second to realize that the portal had opened before the Doctor's elbow struck her chest like a hammer and slammed her into the ground.

Her head struck the ground hard, her vision bursting with colours and a wave of nausea rolling over her. She felt a tug at her belt and her vision returned to her just in time to see that she was face to face with the barrel of her own gun. She barely registered the look of rage in the Doctor's eyes before she saw his finger pull on the trigger.

The click that followed had to be the loudest sound in the whole world.

Celeste saw immediately what the problem was—the handgun's magazine had come loose, barely sticking out of the bottom where it was completely useless—but the Doctor was less familiar with a gun and had to decide how long he wanted to spent solving the problem. His eyes shot to the portal with a look of panic.

Celeste started laughing at the absurdity of it and when his eyes turned back to her, she raised the middle finger of her right hand. "Fucking twat."

With a roar of frustration, he hit her in the head with the butt of the gun, and the bursts of colour returned. Celeste felt the strength leave her body, collapsing against the ground, limp and dizzy. As her vision swam, all she could think about was the fact that she'd heard the magazine click back into place. He could kill her now with just the squeeze of his finger.

She was still laughing, she realized—laughing at the thought of what her last words had been, holding her finger up defiantly. Doug would have laughed too if he'd known. It almost seemed like the perfect way for her to die.

But she didn't die. She became vaguely aware of feet thudding on the ground and, as her vision slowly came back, she saw that the Doctor had gone. Her vision was too blurred to see which was the Doctor and which was the King, but she turned on her side just in time to see two figures passing through the portal. She felt the warm trickle of blood cross her forehead, the cold from the ground was seeping into her skin, and her lungs began to ache from laughing.

She rolled over more, getting onto her hands and knees. She tried to get to her feet, failed, fell, and started to crawl instead. After a few seconds, some of the dizziness had passed and she tried again, getting her legs back underneath her and staggering towards the portal. Her legs wobbled beneath her, vision still dancing with colours and knees crying in protest from when they'd been kicked out, but she managed to stay up long enough to do what she needed to.

The portal flickered, sending purple flashes across the sky like lightning, and then shut down abruptly. It was all very quiet and unceremonious. Celeste turned, put her back against the portal's gate, and slid down to the ground. There was still sound coming from her, but it sounded less like laughing now. Her vision was still blurred but it didn't seem to be from her injuries anymore. She felt like she couldn't breathe, but it wasn't from how hard she'd hit the ground.

The humming of the portal had stopped, the pounding of feet, the screaming of Neverweres—everything had stopped. She sat there alone, in a dead city, and the only sound she could hear was her own hysterical crying. She didn't even know why.

Dark shapes began to appear around corners and wandering up streets. They weren't screaming anymore, but the Neverweres were creeping closer, surrounding her. She didn't have the strength to run very far and there was nothing close enough to provide her adequate shelter, but she told herself that she'd done her job and that she could take pride in that. Her father would be proud. Douglas would be proud. And, if she didn't say anything as she waited, her last words would still be calling the Doctor a twat to his face.

Slowly, the city scape was overcome with shadows. She rested her head against the gate, closed her eye, and waited.

It felt like it had only been seconds, but the chill of evening air and the ache in her bones told her that some time had passed. When she opened her eye, she found that the black tide had come but had failed to drown her. There was not one Neverwere closer than ten feet, all of them sitting silently and solidly as a wall, surrounding her completely, as though they had also been asleep.

Directly ahead of her, something stirred, and the darkness crept closer. In the twilight, it was almost impossible to make out the dark shape before her, but it inched forward slowly and deliberately, as if to let her know that it wasn't a threat. Then everything was stirring, and she began to realize that it was one, single form rather than hundreds.

As the wall around her drifted toward one point, looking as though it were pulling into itself, a single black tendril reached out towards her and placed something on the ground at her feet. She leaned forward to grab it, her fingers recognizing the feel of it before her eye recognized the image.

It was a picture of her, only a couple of weeks after being hired by Torchwood, with Doug's arm around her shoulders and both of them grinning broadly. She remembered that day, even though there was nothing particularly special about it. They decided to hang out after work with some of the team, get some drinks, play some stupid trivia games. She'd never been the most social of people, but Doug just loved a rowdy pub night.

When she looked up from the photo, there weren't any Neverweres in sight. Instead, she only saw a single, smoky figure looking down at her with a very familiar looking grin.


End file.
